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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516389">The Early Leaf's a Flower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes'>searchingwardrobes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Rape, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Fate, Magic wardrobe, Minor Character Death, Neverland (Once Upon a Time), Neverland (Peter Pan), Prophecy, negative portrayal of Swanfire, positive portrayal of Millian, soul mates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:40:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons . . . </p>
<p>A re-write of my incomplete fic Someone to Watch Over Me for the Captain Swan Re-write a Thon on tumblr.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>213</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>182</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*I can’t believe this day is finally here! I have worked so hard on this, and I am both nervous and excited to post it. This is a re-write of Someone to Watch Over Me. I changed the title because the focus was no longer on Emma’s “imaginary friend” watching over her, but equally on Emma and Killian and how, when, and why the wardrobe brings them together. There’s also a theme about growing up and loss of innocence, which is why I took the title from one of my favorite poems, “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Frost. For those of you who loved the original fic, I haven’t done away with little!Emma and little!Killy. As a matter of fact, there’s more of it with parts from Killian’s point of view, where the original was just from Emma’s. </p>
<p>*The biggest change in this is that I have completely thrown out canon. Emma and Killian are the same age in this, and the plot focuses on Neverland. I had just finished re-reading Barrie’s Peter Pan with my daughter when I started this, so it became a mixture of Once’s Neverland and Barrie’s. I love how that part in particular came out, and I hope you all do as well!</p>
<p>*Massive thanks to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang (@optomisticgirl, @phiralovesloki, @shppingtheswann, and @spartanguard). @optomisticgirl in particular helped beta when my original had to bow out and also encouraged me when I doubted myself (enduring really long pms in the process!) @shippingtheswann, I just don’t have words to express your beta skills in this! Emma and Killian’s relationship as kids would not be what it is without you, for one, and you just overall made me so much better as a writer. @distant-rose, thank you for encouraging me to write Milah the way I envisioned her and helping me create an awesome pirate crew for Killian. And finally, every single one of you in the discord chat for your constant encouragement, advice, and sprinting. </p>
<p>* This fic is complete and will be updated every Monday.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Emma: Age 10</b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>         Emma’s palms are damp with sweat as they clutch the small duffel in her lap. Another social worker, another foster home. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins had been nice enough, but their biological sons? Emma shudders as she thinks of their sneering taunts and cruel pranks. She loosens her grip on her duffel bag so she can rub her thumb over the birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. Sometimes the flower-shaped mark becomes red and raw from the nervous habit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Sighing, she watches the scenery go by outside the car window. Emma tries to keep her mind blank, knowing that getting her hopes up will bring nothing but pain. Yet she can’t help the anticipation swirling in her stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         The social worker pulls into a modest gravel drive just off the busy highway. The house looks old, and so does the woman who stands on the porch that spreads across the entire front of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        “That’s Martha,” the social worker tells Emma, “she’s your new foster mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Emma steps out of the car hesitantly, her eyes trained on her feet. Martha tells her hello, but she only mumbles a response. Instead of looking at her new guardian, Emma takes in the front of the house. Dingy white paint covers cracked shingles, the banister lining the porch is broken in places, and the red brick steps are crumbling at the corners. Emma doesn’t really care about any of that, however. Not when brilliant blooms crowd the ground beside the steps and in front of the banister. Emma reaches her hand out tentatively to feel the soft, blue petals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “Those are forget-me-nots,” Martha tells her, “they’re my favorite flower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “The blue is so bright,” Emma says shyly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “Aren’t they?” Martha leans down closer to Emma, chuckling as her knees crack. “Despite these old bones of mine, I tend these flowers carefully. Want to know why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          For the first time, Emma looks directly at Martha, and the woman’s kind hazel eyes put her at ease. She nods silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “My Alfred, God rest his soul, gave me a bouquet of these before he left for Korea many, many years ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forget me not, Martha</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         The woman chuckles, and Emma tries out a tiny smile. “And you didn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “No,” Martha says, as she rises, extending a hand to Emma, “and he came home to me. We raised two kids in this old house, and now that he’s gone and my children have moved away, I get a bit lonely. I’d like us to keep each other company, Emma, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Blinking in surprise, Emma looks at Martha’s hand, then at her face. She’s never had a foster parent or social worker ask her what she wanted. The question gives her the courage to take Martha’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Emma examines the woman as she takes her inside and shows her around the house. Martha looks to be in her seventies with brittle gray hair and deep wrinkles. Yet her smile is kind, and her hands are soft as they gently give her slim shoulders a squeeze. The house is at least a hundred years old with cracked, peeling paint, and scuffed hardwood floors. A monstrous, black pot-bellied stove radiates heat from the corner of the main room. Like most old houses, one room leads into the next, and Martha gently steers her through the doorway next to the stove. She tells her this will be the room she shares with Lindsey, the sullen teenager with a permanent scowl on her face. Emma looks around, taking it all in through her wide, jaded eyes. There’s a fireplace in this room, but it’s bricked up. A small space heater instead runs in the corner of the room. Martha tells her this used to be the dining room, and a set of French doors line one wall. A long, low piece of furniture sits in front of it to block the door, but through the beveled glass, Emma can see the foyer and the front door that she knows leads out to a massive front porch complete with a swing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Martha shows Emma her bed, and she’s surprised to find that she gets the larger one. A massive double bed of thick, dark wood with tall posts. Lindsay’s twin bed, just a simple metal frame and mattress, sits in front of the room’s one window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “Lindsay couldn’t sleep in that huge bed, so I got her that cot,” Martha explains with a shrug. She sets Emma’s bag beside the bed and then pulls a small step stool from beneath it. “This thing is so high off the ground, you’ll have to use this to get in. It’s a very old bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma eyes the stool and tries to hide how pleased she is with the bed. It’s ornate and obviously an antique. It’s like something out of a movie. She’ll feel like a princess sleeping in that bed. All her life, she’s wanted more than the cots or metal twin beds she usually gets in foster homes. She flings her duffel right on top, lest this Lindsay change her mind and steal the bed away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          But the best thing of all is the wide space between the bed and the hardwood floor. No monsters can lurk there. In this bed, in this room, with Martha who tends flowers despite her creaking bones, maybe she’ll finally feel safe. </span>
</p><p>  <span>*****************************************************</span></p><p>
  <span>          Martha wears a faded house dress covered in tiny blue flowers and blue terry-cloth house shoes on her feet. She dons an apron to make supper, and Emma thinks of old black and white TV shows. Maybe this place won’t be so bad. Maybe Martha will one day tell her, “I love you, please stay. And why don’t you call me grandma?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma tries to push that fantasy aside. If it doesn’t come true, she’ll be disappointed. Again. Martha asks if she wants to help with supper, and she eagerly agrees. Martha lets her pour the macaroni noodles into the boiling water on the stove, warning her to go slowly so she doesn’t burn herself. She then lets Emma stir the noodles so they won’t stick together while she expertly chops an onion into tiny pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “These are the chicken pot pies,” she explains next, handing Emma a fork. She shows Emma how to slowly poke the fork into the crust to make each family member’s initials. Emma grins as she presses the fork into hers, then turns the fork sideways to make three more straight lines. “E” for Emma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Martha’s kitchen table is of chipped formica that was probably once a bright blue but is now faded. The metal chairs with matching blue leather seats are like something out of the 1950s. Emma sits at the table with Martha and the other foster children the woman has taken in. Besides Lindsay and Emma, there’s also a little boy named Tyler with wide eyes and a sad, fearful face. His parents and sister were killed in a car accident, and he’s only here temporarily while his aunt and grandparents argue over who gets to keep him. Emma has a hard time imagining family, much less one who will want you so badly they would fight about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Martha hands Tyler a little plastic box shaped like a loaf of bread. She tells him to take out a card and pass it around the table. On each is a Bible verse, and they can’t eat until they’ve each read one. Lindsay rolls her eyes but does as Martha asks anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma’s verse reads, “When my father and my mother forsake me; then the Lord will take me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Martha takes a surprising interest in hearing about each child’s day. Lindsay’s eye rolling, Tyler’s quiet sadness, and Emma’s nervousness doesn’t phase the woman at all. After the meal, everyone helps clear the table and do the dishes. It’s a small kitchen, and several times Martha bumps softly into Emma or brushes against her. Each time, the woman laughs and gives her a tentative side hug. When she does, the elderly woman’s scent washes over Emma. It’s a distinctive smell that Emma can’t quite place, but it’s comforting and makes Emma want to bury herself in a bear hug with the woman. However, she refrains. She can’t seem too eager; it might scare Martha and then she won’t want to keep her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          The bathroom in this house is in an odd place: off the kitchen. When Emma goes to brush her teeth, she sees two jars on the pedestal sink. Inside one is a pinkish cold cream, and in the other is powder with a fat, fluffy puff resting on top. Emma lifts both to her nose and sniffs deeply. Yes, the combination of the two. That’s Martha’s scent. Emma eyes the makeup puff as she screws the top back on the cream. She simply can’t resist it, she lifts the puff and starts patting the powder onto her face. She starts and almost drops the puff when Martha suddenly steps into the room. Emma wilts. This will be her shortest stay at a foster home ever. A new record. She waits silently, heart pounding, for the yelling, frustration, and inevitable punishment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          But a smile simply deepens the crows feet around Martha’s eyes as she chuckles softly. She wets a washcloth and swipes it across Emma’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “This pretty face doesn’t need makeup,” she tells her with a sparkle in her eye. “Of course,” she continues, “pretty is as pretty does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma cocks her head to one side and wrinkles her forehead, “What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Martha pats Emma’s cheek gently, “It means our hearts are what make us truly beautiful. The way we treat people and the things we do are far more important than what we look like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Relief washes through Emma when it sinks in that the woman isn’t going to punish her or even yell. Lessons on true beauty aren’t exactly what Emma is used to in a foster home, and she’s not quite sure how to accept it.  Martha helps her off the stool, then takes her hand. She leads her to her room, tucks her in, and says a short prayer. Emma bites her bottom lip, wanting so badly to request a hug, but afraid to do so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “Could I give you a hug and kiss good night?” Martha asks, and Emma thinks that the old woman looks just as nervous as Emma asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma beams and pulls her arms out from under the covers. The woman gives her a good, firm hug. Over her shoulder, Emma notices for the first time a large, ornate piece of furniture in the corner. There are a large set of doors in the top half, and two drawers on the bottom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “What is that?” Emma asks in a shaky voice, pointing, when Martha releases her from the hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “It’s a wardrobe,” the woman explains, as she tucks the blankets back around Emma. “Old houses didn’t have closets, so people put their clothes in those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma says nothing as Martha brushes a kiss to her forehead and tells her goodnight, but she eyes the wardrobe warily. It’s the perfect place for monsters. She squeezes her eyes shut as Martha brushes her hair back from her face. Emma tries to tell herself that the boys at the last place were probably making things up. There’s no such thing as monsters . . . right? Yet she can’t forget the panic that had clawed at her when she was locked in that dark room . . . </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “Sleepy, huh?” Martha chuckles, tucking her hair behind her ear. Emma lets her believe she is, waiting to open her eyes after the woman is gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>          A few minutes later, Lindsay comes in, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. Instead of pajamas, she’s dressed in tight jeans and a skimpy tank top. Emma sits up in bed and watches curiously as the teenager slips into a pair of boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “What are you doing?” Emma asks as Lindsay slowly and quietly opens the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “None of your business, kid,” she snaps, tossing a backpack out the open window. “Just don’t snitch. Got that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Emma nods as she pulls the blanket to her chest. Why should she care what Lindsay does? The teenager disappears out the window, and Emma falls back against the mattress with a sigh. She can’t remember the last time she had a room all to herself, and it makes her a little nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          She eyes the wardrobe warily, sitting up in bed and scrambling back against the headboard. She clutches the handmade quilt Martha had tucked around her in sweaty fists.  Did it just creak open a little? She squints in the dark. Through the open slit of the wardrobe, she swears she sees a pair of bright blue eyes, the color of the forget me nots in Martha’s yard, looking at her. She gasps and throws the covers over her head. She counts to twenty slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. The wardrobe door makes another long, rusty sound. After another count to twenty, she slowly eases her head out of the covers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          The wardrobe door is shut tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Killian: Age 10</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>           The sea is calm as glass, the air still and stifling. The sailors are antsy and on-edge, praying to every deity for wind. Rowers are sent to the galley every day to make some headway, and it’s exhausting work. Killian isn’t big or strong enough at just ten years of age, but Liam, at twelve, is. The elder Jones collapses into his bunk each night with sore arms and blistered hands. Killian prays the wind comes soon so he can have his brother back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Perhaps his absence is why Killian’s mind is so distracted lately with thoughts of ginger curls and hazel eyes. His mother’s touch was always so gentle, her voice soft and lilting, her smile and eyes bright. He remembers her being sick; her eyes losing some of their brightness, and her laughter coming less often. But she still smiled. She still held him whenever he crawled into her sick bed. She still kissed him with her soft lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         Killian remembers she would sing, too, with that lilting voice that was so different from his father’s deep, critical one. Every night, he was lulled to sleep by her lullabies. He begins to sing one now as he knots rope.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She stepped away from me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And she moved through the Fair</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And fondly I watched her</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Move here and move there</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And she went her way homeward</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With one star awake</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As the swans in the evening</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Move over the lake</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>          Killian jumps as an empty bottle of rum shatters against the railing to his right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          “Shut up, boy, and get back to work!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          But to Killian’s surprise, the other sailors yell at the first to leave him alone. The lullaby reminds them of home, they say, so let the boy sing. And sing he does, passing the long, weary, windless days. The sailors who normally terrorize him are lulled by the bright, clear voice that only a child can possess. It changes the morale of the crew to such an extent, that the captain even sends him below to encourage the rowers with his songs. That is the best development of all, for now he’s near his brother; the only family he has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           A few nights later, Killian Jones can’t seem to get comfortable in his hammock. The ship creaks and sways, men snore loudly all around him, and the air smells, clogging his nose and making him gag. Nevertheless, his days are so brutally exhausting that sleep comes swiftly. Even last week when he was forced to sleep on his stomach because of the bloody lashes criss-crossing his back, sleep had claimed him easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          But not tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         He shifts again, his hammock swinging with the motion. In his new position, he sees something in the hold that is completely out of place: a large, wooden wardrobe. No one would keep such a nice piece of furniture in the damp, dark hold. Killian furrows his brow in confusion - the large, bulky thing isn’t even moving an inch as the ship sways, which should be impossible, and it surely wasn’t there when he first went to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         “Liam, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Li-am!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he whispers, poking at the hammock above him. Liam just mumbles in his sleep, something partially intelligible along the lines of </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave me alone, Killy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Exasperated, Killian huffs and swings his scrawny legs over the edge of his hammock. He moves silently and cautiously across the wet wooden boards, his hand trembling as he reaches up to grasp the knob on the door of the wardrobe. He opens it a crack and gasps when he hears voices, female voices, on the other side. He glances behind him, but when he sees that no one else is awake, he crawls up inside the wardrobe. It is deeper than he expected it to be, and instead of a back, there is another set of doors. Killian is comforted to still see the ship’s hold through the open door he just crawled through, so he turns back around and pushes slowly on the second set of doors, opening them only a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         He sees a bedroom, lit with soft light from a bedside lamp. A little girl about his age, with blonde hair the color of buttercups is being tucked into bed by a soft, wrinkled old woman with a gentle smile. Killian watches, fascinated, as the woman asks for a hug. He’s been surrounded by nothing but rough, loud men for so long, that he yearns to receive a hug for himself from someone so soft and warm. The little girl smiles as the woman embraces her, her eyes shut tight as she relishes the hug. But then her eyes, the color of seafoam, open and he quickly shuts the wardrobe as quietly as he can. His heart pounds in his chest as he hears the little girl ask the woman – her grandmother? – about the large piece of furniture. The girl’s voice wobbles as if she’s frightened, and Killian hopes she didn’t see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          He thinks that maybe he should go back to his hammock, but he can’t get those sea green eyes out of his mind, nor the way the girl’s hair had shimmered like gold from the lamplight. He’s never thought long on any lass, or found any of them pretty. Most women he sees on his occasional stops in port are loud, brazen, and considerably older.  This one, however, is different. She’s his age, for one, and there’s a softness about her that he hasn’t known since his mother was living. So finally, he musters up the courage to open the door a crack once more. This time, those green eyes lock on his, and the girl gasps and dives under the covers. He frowns as he pulls the door shut once more. He hadn’t meant to frighten her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          The next morning, he thinks he’ll talk to Liam about the wardrobe and the little girl on the other side. But when his brother teasingly upends his hammock, depositing him unceremoniously upon the floor, Killian rolls over to find the wardrobe is gone.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Breaking Through</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The wardrobe reunites the children, but how long will it last?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* I should have mentioned that the last chapter was kind of just an intro and the chapters going forward will be much longer. Here Emma and Killian get to know each other, but fate also starts being a cruel mistress to our precious babies. I did say this has a lot of angst, right?<br/>* I also took off the major character death tag because the only deaths in this will be canonical deaths of secondary characters or deaths of original minor characters. In short, Emma and Killian will have tragic lives, just like in canon. So buckle your seat belts and grab your tissues, folks . . .<br/>* Major thanks once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang and my crew of betas: @shippingtheswann, @optomisticgirl, and @distant-rose. This fic would be a mess without them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  <b>Emma: Age 10</b>          </p><p>          The next morning Martha is beside herself with worry to find Lindsay gone. Emma lies and says she must have been asleep when the teenager left, and a lie has never made her feel so guilty. Children’s services are already there when the school bus comes for her and Tyler. Emma so badly wants to tell the social worker that it wasn’t Martha’s fault; that Martha is nice and she wants to stay here. But she’s too afraid of her lies to open her mouth.</p><p>          At the end of the day, the school bus drops them off at Martha’s, and everything seems normal. Martha has even unpacked Emma’s suitcase. Inside the wardrobe are not only Emma’s meager shirts and jeans, but a couple of new outfits as well. There’s also a new pillow on the bed covered in bright flowers. A fluffy white bunny with a bright pink ribbon is propped up against the new pillow. Emma hugs it with delight.</p><p>          She wants to tell Martha thank you for the things she got her when they gather around the dinner table, but for some reason the words won’t come.</p><p>          Tonight, Emma’s Bible verse is “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”</p><p>          Emma can’t sleep that night. All she can do is keep glancing at the wardrobe, wondering if it really opened last night, if the eyes were really there. Finally, Emma tells herself she’s being silly. She rolls away from the wardrobe, and pulls the covers up to her chin. She closes her eyes and wills herself to go to sleep. But then her heart stops. There it is. The creaking again. The sound is longer this time, as if the door is swinging open, and Emma gasps.</p><p>          She whirls around and screams when she sees a dark shape through the half open wardrobe, blue eyes reflecting the moonlight as they gaze at her. The door flings open and Martha rushes in.</p><p>          “Emma, sweetie, what is it?”</p><p>          “There’s something in the wardrobe!” she cries, turning and pointing. But the door to the wardrobe is completely shut.</p><p>          Martha chuckles as she brushes back Emma’s hair. “Oh, that’s just your imagination running away with you.” To prove her point, she goes to the wardrobe and flings it open. Emma yelps, expecting to see the blue-eyed monster standing there, but all she sees are her clothes lined up in a row.</p><p>          Martha tucks her in and kisses her goodnight, but Emma knows the truth. Something is in that wardrobe, and tomorrow night, she won’t let it scare her.</p><p>             **********************************************</p><p>          The next morning, children’s services are there again, this time to pick up Tyler and take him to his aunt who lives in the next county. At dinner that night, Emma secretly loves that it’s just her and Martha. Her Bible verse reads, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”</p><p>          After Martha tucks her in that night, Emma crawls out from under the covers and pulls her knees up to her chest. She rests her chin on her knees and gazes intently at the wardrobe. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest, but she won’t hide in fear. Not tonight. She isn’t imagining things; and she’ll prove it.</p><p>          Sure enough, just as she thinks she might nod off where she sits, the door of the wardrobe creaks slowly open. Through the half open door, she first sees those blue eyes, the bluest she’s ever seen. Then the dark shape is there. Emma’s heart is pounding, and her breaths come fast as she stares at the shadow. Part of her wants to duck under the covers, and hide, but instead she closes her eyes and counts to ten until her breathing evens out. When she opens her eyes, the shadow is still there. Maybe it’s just one of Emma’s shirts? Her eyes playing tricks on her, like Martha said? Emma eases to the end of the bed slowly on her hands and knees, and when she reaches the edge, right next to the wardrobe she can almost make out the shape . . .</p><p>          But then those sparkling blue eyes widen in fear and the shape shuffles backwards quickly, slamming the door shut. Inside, Emma hears a thud followed by desperate shuffling and gasping. Then another thud followed by the sound of crying. Emma jumps from the high bed and pads the three steps across the cold wood floors to the door of the wardrobe. She reaches up for the handle, hesitating only a moment before slowly pulling it open.</p><p>          All she can see at first are ten small toes peeking out from beneath the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Emma reaches up and pushes the clothes hangers aside. Now she can see a head of dark hair resting atop two skinny arms that are folded around two skinny legs. It’s just a little boy! A little boy curled up into a tight, frightened ball. His sniffling and crying echo in the small space.</p><p>          “Who are you?” Emma asks.</p><p>          The little boy lifts his head, revealing those blue eyes she has seen the last few nights, this time shining bright with tears. His dark brown hair is in need of a trim and falls across his forehead, hanging almost in front of his eyes. His thin face is sprinkled with freckles. He lifts his hand and rubs it across his nose.</p><p>          “I’m Killian,” he tells her.</p><p>          “I’m Emma.” She cocks her head as she studies him. “Why are you crying?”</p><p>          He blushes at her question, and straightens up, pushing his legs forward. “I can’t get out the way I came,” he tells her simply.</p><p>          Emma offers him her hand. He crawls forward, taking it, and she helps him hop down out of the wardrobe. He wears a nightshirt made of scratchy brown fabric that reaches his knees. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself.</p><p>          “Come on, I’ll give you a blanket,” she tells him, hopping up on the bed. He follows her, and she wraps a giant patchwork quilt around the two of them.</p><p>          “This is warm” Killian says, holding it close.</p><p>          “Martha makes them for the children she takes care of,” Emma explains.</p><p>          “Is she your grandmother?”</p><p>          Emma shakes her head, “No. Just a lady who’s taking care of me. I never knew my mother.”</p><p>          Killian’s head drops, “My mum died.”</p><p>          “I’m sorry,” Emma frowns. “My parents left me when I was a baby.”</p><p>          “My father left me,” Killian says, “that’s why I’m a slave now.”</p><p>          “A slave!” Emma exclaims. Killian winces, and she feels bad. She hadn’t meant anything against him. “We learned in school that slavery ended,” she hastens to explain. </p><p>          Killian shakes his head sadly. “Not where I come from.”</p><p>          Emma worries that she really did hurt his feelings, especially when he keeps his eyes on the quilt and won’t look at her. Then the grumbling of his stomach breaks the silence.</p><p>          “Are you hungry?”</p><p>          He shrugs. “I’m always hungry.”</p><p>          Emma understands that. This home and her last one had plenty of food, but there have been others . . . </p><p>          “Come on,” she says, jumping up from the bed, “let’s get a snack.”</p><p>           Killian keeps the quilt wrapped around himself when he slides off the bed to follow her. She slowly inches the door open and motions him to follow her as she tiptoes into the hallway. Emma pauses at Martha’s door; she can hear the elderly woman snoring on the other side.</p><p>          “You know,” she whispers to Killian, “I think Martha would let you stay.”</p><p>          “No!” he protests in a loud whisper, his eyes going wide.</p><p>         “But then you wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. And she’s really nice.”</p><p>         “I have a brother,” Killian says. “I can’t leave him.”</p><p>         Emma’s face falls, but she understands. If she had any family, any at all, she would stay with them. She would never let them go. So instead of reaching for Martha’s doorknob, she grasps Killian’s hand through the quilt and tugs him down the hallway. </p><p>         The linoleum is cold beneath Emma’s feet as they tiptoe into the empty kitchen. She reaches for the lightswitch, and when the fluorescent bulbs flicker to life, Killian gasps. </p><p>        “What . . . what kind of magic are these lights?”</p><p>        Emma giggles. “It isn’t magic. It’s lightbulbs, silly.”</p><p>        “Oh,” Killian says in wonder, but he’s barely paying attention to her. The quilt slips from his shoulders and to the floor as he wanders around the room, wonder upon his face. “It’s all so clean . . . and shiny. This is your galley?”</p><p>       “Uh . . . I don’t know what that is, but Martha does clean alot.” </p><p>       Killian stops in front of the white refrigerator. He tentatively reaches out a hand and pulls the door open. The cold air causes him to startle back. </p><p>      “It’s so cold!” he cries out.</p><p>      “Shh!” Emma warns him.</p><p>      “Sorry,” Killian whispers.</p><p>      Emma tilts her head. “You’ve never seen lightbulbs or a fridge? Are you a time traveler or something? I saw that in a movie once.”</p><p>      His brow furrows. “What’s a movie?”</p><p>     “It’s . . . like a . . . pictures. That move . . . and talk.” She shrugs, not sure how else to describe a movie.</p><p>     “I’ve never heard of magic like this,” Killian tells her in wonder. “I don’t know what time travel is, but this is <em> definitely </em>a different realm.”</p><p>     Emma’s about to ask him what he means by <em> realm, </em> but then <em> both </em>their stomachs growl at the same time, and they both laugh. She grabs the carton of milk, closes the refrigerator, then carries it to the table. </p><p>     “There’s glasses next to the sink,” she tells Killian, pointing. While he gets the glasses, she gets the Oreos out of the pantry. Martha had let her have two with a glass of milk when she did her homework. Something else Emma only thought happened on TV. </p><p>     Emma doesn’t bother with plates, just sets the package of cookies in the middle of the table. Killian carefully pours the milk.</p><p>     “I haven’t had milk since Papa left,” he tells her, “and never this cold.”</p><p>    “You’re definitely a time traveler,” Emma states as she slides the plastic tray of cookies from the package. She takes out a cookie and hands it to Killian, then takes one for herself. “I’m gonna guess you never had an Oreo, then. People eat ‘em different ways, but I like to dunk em.”</p><p>     She plunks her cookie in the milk, and Killian imitates her.</p><p>     “I like to leave it in the milk for a bit so it gets real gooshy.” </p><p>     Killian watches her intently, and she smiles. Then she pulls out her cookie and eats the half that’s soaked with milk. Killian follows suit, and his eyes brighten with delight.</p><p>     “Mm, that’s good!” he turns the cookie and eats the rest without milk. “It’s good crunchy, too.”</p><p>     Their only conversation for a few minutes is smiles and laughter as Emma teaches him all the ways to eat an Oreo: twisting it in half and licking the cream, taking bites followed by sips of milk, quick dunks. Then they both get a bit silly, crumbling the cookies in the milk and drinking it all up. Before they know it, the entire package is gone. </p><p>     “Oh no!” Killian explains. “Will you get in trouble?”</p><p>     Emma frowns as she brushes cookie crumbs from the table. “I don’t think so. I mean, Martha probably didn’t want me to eat the whole pack, but she’s too nice to hit me or anything.”</p><p>     Killian nods, his shoulders relaxing. Emma props her chin on her hand and taps her lips as she studies him. </p><p>     “This whole thing reminds me of a book I read,” she tells him. “These kids went through a wardrobe to a magic land with dwarves, a witch, and talking animals and stuff.”</p><p>     Killian retrieves the quilt from the floor and wraps himself up in it again. “I’ve never seen any talking animals, but I’ve seen dwarves in the Misthaven port. And there’s a witch in the Glowerhaven port who sells potions and stuff.”</p><p>     He says it so casually, and her jaw drops. “You live in a place that has magic?”</p><p>     “Of course,” Killian says before finishing the last of his milk. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You do too. The lights, the magical cold box, and the pictures that move.”</p><p>     Emma shakes her head. “That’s not magic, that’s . . . um, inventions or whatever. Like in school we learned about Thomas Edison inventing the lightbulb.”</p><p>     “Oh,” Killian said, “so people don’t cast spells or anything like that?”</p><p>     “No.”</p><p>     “And there are no dwarves or witches?”</p><p>     “No. And if you told anyone you saw that stuff, they’d call you crazy!” Emma leaned forward eagerly. “What else magical have you seen?”</p><p>     “Well, we see mermaids a lot -”</p><p>     “Mermaids!”</p><p>     “Uh huh, and Cook says he saw a kraken once.” Killan shudders. “I don’t ever want to see one of those monsters.”</p><p>     “It sounds so exciting!”</p><p>     “Not really,” Killian says, “most days at sea are long and boring.” </p><p>      His eyes flutter and he shivers under the quilt, so Emma jumps up and grabs his hand again. She leads him back to her room where they climb back into the warm bed. It’s very late, and she knows they should probably try and sleep, but they keep finding things to talk about. </p><p>          Suddenly, Emma’s eyes have drifted shut and her head has dropped to Killian’s shoulder, when a shaft of light falls across the bed. Emma and Killian  turn their heads in surprise towards the wardrobe. The light is unusually bright as it falls through the open door.</p><p>          “That’s weird,” Emma comments, her brow furrowing.</p><p>          The two of them scramble down from the bed to peer inside the wardrobe.</p><p>          “Woah,” Emma breathes, for no longer does she see her clothes or the back of the wardrobe. Instead, she sees a room of wood, rocking gently back and forth. Barrels and boxes fill the room, and men and boys sleep in hammocks hanging from the beams of the ceiling. Everything is damp, and Emma can smell salt and something musty. The air blowing through feels warm and wet against her face.</p><p>          “That’s the hold of the ship,” Killian tells her.</p><p>          He scrambles inside the wardrobe, but Emma grasps his arm, “Wait, you can’t go yet!”</p><p>          He shakes his head, “My brother will worry. We’re all each other has.”</p><p>          “Will you come back tomorrow night?” She asks, tentatively biting her lower lip.</p><p>          Killian grins brightly. “Aye, lass.”</p><p>          He turns to go, but then seems to hesitate. He spins back towards her, his face flaming red, and pecks a quick kiss against her cheek. Then the light is shining so bright in the wardrobe that it blinds Emma and she has to look away. Then Killian is gone, and Emma stands there with her hand to her cheek.</p><p>           **************************************************</p><p>          The next morning at breakfast, Martha seems different. Her eyes seem distant, and her words make no sense. Then half her smile falls down unnaturally, and she slumps against the table. Emma shouts her name, trembling all over, then dashes for the phone to call 911.</p><p>         That evening, a social worker stands in Martha’s living room waiting for Emma to pack. Emma pulls her suitcase from the wonderful bed covered in Martha’s bright quilt. She grabs the bunny and buries her face in the soft fur. Her eyes catch the wardrobe, and she frowns. Killian won’t understand when she’s not here. She takes a deep breath and before she can change her mind, she dashes to the wardrobe and sets the little bunny inside.</p><p>         When she walks out of the room, she can’t help giving the wardrobe one last look over her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Killian: Age 10</b>
</p><p>          Killian can scarcely believe that the fates have smiled upon him by sending him the wardrobe, nor that he’s had the honor of making a friend like Emma. </p><p>          He also can’t believe he kissed her. He’s not even sure what came over him. His face had burned so that he feared his cheeks would be reddened permanently. Her cheek had been so soft, and her hair had tickled his nose. She was so pretty -</p><p>          “Killian!” his brother hisses. Liam punctuates his reprimand by flicking Killian with the rag he’s using to swab the deck.</p><p>          “Ow, what was that for?”</p><p>          “What is with you, little brother? The captain will give you lashes again if he catches you mooning.”</p><p>          “I’m not mooning,” Killian grumbles as he concentrates on scrubbing at the fish blood staining the slick boards. </p><p>          The brothers fall silent as the ship’s captain and first mate walk past. Killian’s back throbs with pain, and he trembles from head to foot remembering the last time he’d been caught daydreaming. He stares at the stains upon the deck, scrubbing as if his life depends on it. The tension across his shoulder blades don’t lessen until the captain heads to his quarters to go over navigation with the first mate. </p><p>          Killian glances up at his brother. Not only is Liam two years older, he’s taller, broader, and stronger. He also doesn’t go around daydreaming and earning himself lashes. </p><p>          “Liam,” Killian finally dares ask, “have you . . . kissed many girls?”</p><p>          Liam’s eyes widen as he lifts his gaze, then he arches his brow and seems to be holding back a teasing grin. Killian pretends to concentrate even harder at his menial task. </p><p>          “Why, Killy? Has a mermaid flopped on deck lately?”</p><p>          “We were just in port a month ago,” Killian grumbles.</p><p>          “Aye,” his brother chuckles, “and you spent the entire time running around on the sand with the other village boys like the child you are.”</p><p>          “It’s just a bloody question!”</p><p>          “Okay, okay, calm down,” Liam capitulates. “Truth be told? No, I haven’t. I’ve seen just as many lasses as you have.”</p><p>          “What about that one girl in Glowerhaven?”</p><p>          “I . . . well . . . “</p><p>          It’s Killian’s turn to laugh as his brother’s face turns red and he stumbles over his words. </p><p>          “I was just leaning in when her father showed up and chased me off.”</p><p>          Killian’s laughter rings louder, and he falls over, holding his middle. Liam scowls and flings his rag again with a snap. Killian frowns and rubs at the new welt on his arm.</p><p>         “Guess you can’t help me then,” Killian snaps. He knows it’s immature, but he can’t help it - he sticks his tongue out at his brother. </p><p>**************************************</p><p>         Killian stands nervously in front of the wardrobe that night, smoothing his hair down. The bosun always greases his hair when he goes to court the farmer’s daughter in Arendelle, so Killian has swiped a little from his trunk. The bosun also likes to take his lass flowers, so Killian grips a handful of wilted buttercups in his hand. They had been fresh when they were picked days ago at port. He hopes the captain doesn’t notice them missing from the vase in his quarters - Killian only swiped three.</p><p>         He’s also hoping to steal another kiss from Emma tonight, and this time he’ll aim for her lips instead of her cheek. Killian’s a little nervous that she’ll slap him, though. Emma seems like the type of girl who just might. It’s one of the things he likes about her, actually. He lets out a deep breath and opens the door of the wardrobe. </p><p>         Killian cocks his head and frowns when he sees the fluffy white plaything sitting inside the wardrobe. He pulls it out - it’s a stuffed rabbit with the softest, whitest fur he’s ever seen. It’s glass eyes are so bright they shine. Around the toy’s neck is a silky pink ribbon. He sets the rabbit down and climbs into the wardrobe. He slowly opens the door.</p><p>         “Emma?”</p><p>          The room is eerily quiet and empty. Emma is nowhere to be seen. He crawls down out of the wardrobe and looks all around at the large, strange room. The quilt he and Emma had shivered under is folded on the bed, yet a foreboding wind seems to blow through the entire house. </p><p>         “Emma?” </p><p>         Killian walks around, looks under the bed, behind a dresser. He stops at the door to the room, tentatively reaching out to touch the door knob. He’s just about to open it when a shaft of light shines behind him from the wardrobe door. His heart ricochets wildly in his chest as he dashes back to the magical piece of furniture. He has no idea what might happen if he gets stuck in Emma’s world, nor can he bear the thought of being forever separated from his brother. He drops the buttercups as he dashes across the room, accidentally crushing them beneath his bare feet.</p><p>          He scrambles back into the wardrobe, tucks the rabbit under the crook of his arm, and hops out of the door on the other side. As he lands back in the ship’s hold, a small rectangle of paper flutters to the floor. He picks it up and reads it, thankful for once that Liam had nagged him to continue his studies after mother had passed. Emma must have left the toy for him. Maybe the note is from her!</p><p>          “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to comfort us in our sorrows. - Proverbs 17:17”</p><p>          Killian knows what a proverb is, but he’s never heard this one before. It must be common in Emma’s realm. His heart sinks that the words aren’t Emma’s own, but he takes comfort that she chose to leave her toy. He also hopes she meant that <em> she </em>was his friend and that she would never forget him. </p><p>          After all, Liam is his brother, and he always comforts him. Just like the proverb said.</p><p>*******************************************</p><p>          Killian jolts awake from a nightmare. He blinks his eyes to banish the images of blood splashing onto the deck, his brother crying, the fire across his back. His scars, though healed, still itch and pull at times. He reaches around to touch them gently, half expecting to find blood on his fingers. His body shakes as he releases a ragged breath. <em> Just a dream </em>. </p><p>          He reaches beneath his itchy blanket and feels the soft toy Emma had given him a week ago. He pulls it out, holds it close, and breathes in the pleasant scent of it. Things in Emma’s realm are so <em> clean </em> and smell so lovely. How do they manage it? He tucks the plaything beneath his cheek, relishing the way it cools his skin. He hasn’t dared let anyone, even Liam, see the bunny. They would ridicule him for sure. He already receives more than his share of mockery for being the youngest on board; he certainly isn’t going to give the crew further reason to torment him.</p><p>          Killian rubs the silky ribbon around the rabbit's neck as more pleasant dreams fill his mind of comfortable beds, cozy quilts, and Emma’s smile. He’ll hide the bunny beneath his blankets before dawn, but for now, no one needs to know how he takes comfort from it. </p><p>          Unfortunately, his nightmares have worn him out more than he had realized, and it’s long past sunrise when he blinks his eyes open again. He opens them to the sound of laughter.</p><p>          “Look at the baby with his poppet!” </p><p>          “What a pretty ribbon you have there, Killy-Cat.”</p><p>          Killian shrinks in on himself at the nickname and the word “pretty.” The man adds kissing sounds to the insult, and fear swells in Killian’s chest that he might snatch him and drag him behind the supply barrels again. </p><p>          A beefy hand reaches out, and Killian recoils. The sailor snatches the rabbit, thankfully, and not the boy. Killian’s relief is short-lived, however, when the men start tossing the rabbit to each other, mocking their little cabin boy with it. </p><p>         “Stop!” Killian shouts, jumping from his hammock. </p><p>         The sailors tease him, dangling the rabbit just out of his reach. He jumps up and races around, but he can never grab a hold of the toy. Panic grips him as he realizes how much he wants to hold onto his only tie to Emma. The wardrobe has disappeared again just as mysteriously as it had appeared, and that rabbit is all he has left of his only friend besides his brother. </p><p>         One of the men grab Killian around the waist and toss him over his shoulder. Guffawing, they all head up the ladder out of the hold. Killian kicks at his captor, demanding he let him go. Where is Liam?</p><p>        “Want your poppet, little girl?” Cook teases, dangling the rabbit over the railing. </p><p>         “No, don’t!” Killian screams, which only make the men laugh harder. </p><p>         “How bad do you want it?” the man who holds him asks, and before Killian can process what is happening, the brute of a man is dangling <em> him </em> over the railing. He holds Killian by the back of his nightshirt, and laughs as the boy kicks and flails.</p><p>          “Let him go!”</p><p>          Relief washes over Killian at the sound of his brother’s voice. But the huge sailor just knocks Liam aside as if he were no bigger than a gnat. </p><p>          “What the bloody hell is this!” another voice thunders, and suddenly Kilian is being deposited with a thud back onto the deck. The crew scrambles to look more presentable as the captain marches forward, his face crooked and red with anger. “Ye scallywags have work to be doin’!”</p><p>          “We was just teasin’ the cabin boy is all,” Cook explains.</p><p>          “He got a poppet looks like, from the last port,” the bosun puts in. “It just tickled us, and I suppose we got carried away.”</p><p>          “A poppet?” the Captain barks, and Liam steps in front of his little brother surreptitiously. </p><p>          “See,” Cook says, tossing the toy to the Captain.</p><p>          The Captain looks the white rabbit over, that permanent scowl that he always wears making it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “Cabin boy!” he barks.</p><p>           On trembling legs, Killian steps forward, his head down. </p><p>          “Where did you get this?”</p><p>           “A - a friend gave it to me.”</p><p>           Killian is shocked when the back of the Captain’s hand connects with his cheek. The force of it sends his head snapping to the side. He bites down on his lip to keep from crying. </p><p>          “Don’t lie to me, boy. First of all, no one on my crew is to be pilfering anything when we make port. It only brings trouble down on us all.”</p><p>          There is a long, heavy silence as the man steps closer to Killian. He grabs Killian roughly by the front of his nightshirt and hauls him up. He shakes Killian until the boy sees stars. </p><p>           “And second, this ship is no place for babies or little girls. If that’s what you are, then perhaps I’ll just keep your brother and drop you at an orphanage in the nearest port.”</p><p>          “No!” Liam cries. “Don’t separate us, please sir!”</p><p>          The captain drops Killian back to the deck with a thud, then unceremoniously tosses the stuffed toy overboard. When he turns to head back to his quarters, he stops and spits on the Jones boys. </p><p>          “Then tell your brother to grow up.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mocking Kisses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's been six years since the wardrobe last worked its magic when Emma sees it again in a new foster home.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*So this is where things really start to shift from the original, and this is probably one of my favorite chapters. I probably worked harder on it than any other! This is also where Neverland mythology begins to come into play. Right before starting the rewrite-a-thon, I re-read J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan to my eight year old. The famous line “all children, except one, grow up” really hit me for the first time. Wait a second, all children except one? Every version of Neverland I had ever seen, from the cartoon, to Spielberg’s Hook, to Once, portray Neverland as a place where no one ages. But that’s not what the novel says!! Then, later on, the book casually mentions that the Lost Boys are constantly changing because some get killed in battle or - get this - Pan “thins them out” when they get too old. Umm . . . say WHAT? So here’s where my story gets dark with a super sadistic Pan . . . and I’m not sorry. At all. (mwhaha)</p>
<p>*If you haven’t noticed, all chapter titles come from Peter Pan. They are either chapter titles in that book or phrases from the book. This one, mocking kisses, actually refers in the novel to Mrs. Darling who has a “mocking kiss conspicuously in the right hand corner of her mouth” which it says not even Mr. Darling or her children can get from her. There’s tons of interpretations for that, none of which have anything to do with how I’m using it here. Here, it has to do with growing up and awakening sexuality, and of course - you know - actual lip locks. So it’s not all dark in this chapter . . . </p>
<p>*I’ll stop being an English Lit teacher and shut up now. Except to thank, once again, the incredible mods for the @captainswanbigbang and to my betas - @shippingtheswann , @optomisticgirl , and @distant-rose . This chapter especially deserves massive thanks to Ro for her pirate expertise! And be sure to follow the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon because ALL of the fics are incredible!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Emma: Age 16</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma lies in bed, wide awake, staring at the wardrobe across the room. It looks eerily familiar, though she tries to tell herself that’s crazy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her new foster family seems incredibly nice. Even the two boys who are the couple’s real children seem excited to have her here instead of jealous. The mother even seemed embarrassed when she showed Emma her room, explaining that it used to be an office, so it didn’t have a closet. She hoped Emma liked the wardrobe she had found at an antique store.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma stares at the wardrobe now and thinks of Martha. Another kind foster mother and another wardrobe, almost identical to the other? Happy coincidences like that don’t happen. At least not to Emma Swan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She huffs and rolls over on her side, and tries not to think about the little boy with the soulful blue eyes. He was just an imaginary friend. A figment of her hurt soul and bruised heart. Her hand hovers over her cheek, and she inwardly berates herself. It was just a peck on the cheek, and she was ten for heaven’s sake! Correction, there </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>no peck on the cheek because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t real</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and that pair of blue eyes from her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s just drifting off when a familiar creak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock. It startles her so much, her hand seems to act on its own and she slaps him across the cheek - hard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bloody hell, Emma what was that for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought . . . I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, you’re real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles, even as he rubs his red cheek, and it lights her up inside. “Liam didn’t think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were real either when I finally told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in the captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma winces. “Sorry I slapped you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shrugs. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf-like. They’re adorable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s adorable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Robby Eddleston.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s a tough lass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know you said she was a good woman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Davy Jones locker?” she asks. “People really say that where you’re from?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian looks confused. “Seamen do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh . . . “ she trails off, her brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the difference between his world and hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Nevertheless,” he continues, “I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, how has this new home been?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Sarah, until I found out she was crazy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crazy? How so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma laughs as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, Harry Potter.” He just blinks in confusion. “Books. About wizards and witches.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says with a nod, but she can tell he’s still a bit confused, and no wonder. When they were ten, he didn’t even know what a movie was. Emma finds his confusion surprisingly endearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 17, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words remind her once again that their wardrobe connects two very different worlds. She also still wonders if Killian travels through both space AND time. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says it’s only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both fall silent for a moment. Emma’s not sure what to make of their bizarre situation. Emma doesn’t want to contemplate what it means if he’s actually 300 years old or something and no longer living in the 20th century, so she decides to change the subject. She turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What does that mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian nods and brushes one more brief kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“They remind me of Martha’s forget-me-nots,” she thinks to herself, “but sad, too.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Killian: Age 16</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get up here, little brother!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian grabs his naval jacket and dashes up the ladder to the deck, grumbling under his breath about it being “younger” brother not “little.” It especially bothers him when Liam is speaking as Lieutenant Jones and not just family. Yet it seems Liam isn’t the only one loose with naval order at the moment. When Killian climbs out of the hold, he finds the rest of the crew chattering excitedly, gazes tilted upward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian!” Liam calls, racing to his side. “You almost missed the excitement!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure, but the captain gave me a new sextant to plot our course, and it uses star charts I’ve never seen before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s eyes scan the ship’s deck, his eyes landing on the men wrestling to hoist an unusual sail. He blinks, thinking surely he must be seeing things, but as the sail rises, he finds it is, in fact, made of feathers. In the center of it is the symbol of a horse with wings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This sail,” Captain Roberts announces from his place on the quarter deck, “is made of feathers from the wings of the famous mythical horse Pegasus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Captain!” the gunman shouts breathlessly. “Enemy ships off the port bow!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Captain ignores the announcement and turns to Liam Jones. “Lieutenant, plot our course!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should we prep the canons, sir?” the gunman asks, confusion clear on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There will be no need,” Captain Roberts dismisses with a mysterious smile, “where we are headed, they can not follow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian glances at his brother, who heads for the ship’s wheel, but Liam looks just as confused as he. Killian rushes to the railing along with several other men of lower rank.  They lean forward to watch the cannonballs from the enemy splash with a mighty roar into the water a safe distance away: warning shots. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian almost loses his balance as the Jewel of the Realm creaks and sways, his stomach dropping. His eyes widen as he sees the ocean fall away below. He and the rest of the men gasp as the reality sets in - the Jewel is airborne. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quit gaping and man your stations!” Captain Roberts shouts. “We’re heading to Neverland!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a quiet murmur after the announcement, even as the men scatter to their duties. Most have never heard of such a realm, while others whisper excitedly of a place they once visited in their dreams as children. The whispered tales seem far-fetched to Killian: a place where your dreams come true, where you can eat chocolate cake all day long, swim with mermaids, and even fly? Even at ten, he would never have believed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, a magic wardrobe that takes you to the girl of your dreams seems far-fetched, he supposes. He grins as he remembers Emma’s lips on his, her soft cheeks beneath his calloused fingers, her silken hair tickling his jaw. He has to find a way to get back to her - hopefully tonight. He isn’t sure what this mysterious mission is all about, but surely the captain’s personal cabin boy won’t be needed for whatever it is. He only has to figure out a way to sneak into Captain Roberts’ quarters when the man isn’t there -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He startles at the sound of his name, and Liam chuckles, clapping a hand to Killian’s shoulder.  “Everyone else is mesmerized by our journey to the skies, yet here you are daydreaming.” Liam cocks his head as he regards his younger brother. “Oh no, it’s a lass, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian blushes as he shrugs and returns to his work. “I’m just thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say so,” Liam laughs as he tugs on Killian’s arm, “but don’t let your brooding cause you to miss this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian lets his brother drag him over to the railing. The ship cuts cleanly through the white, billowy clouds, with none of the swaying he’s become used to at sea. The air is crisp and a bit cold this high, and a particularly thick cloud suddenly envelopes them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Incredible,” Killian whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brother, look,” Liam whispers back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clouds part, and the Jones brothers gasp as the world of blue and white becomes dark and gray. An island shimmers in the distance, surrounded by a blue-tinged glow. They lean further over the railing as the ship dips and begins its descent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Jewel of the Realm has arrived in Neverland.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>******************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In front of Killian, over his brother’s shoulder, is an inviting beach with palm trees that sway in the warm breeze. Behind him, the Jewel of the Realm is shrouded in an unnatural fog. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, little brother, it’s a simple mission.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian doesn’t even bother correcting him on the “little” part. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious? A ship full of navy men, yet only two boys can fulfill this task?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam narrows his eyes. “At eighteen I am hardly a boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian chuckles. “You better hope you’re wrong if the superstitions of the rest of the crew are to be believed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam scoffs. “I think it has more to do with the simplicity of the task. We get the plant, row back to the ship, and we’re heroes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian hopes his brother is right. Captain Roberts had Killian in mind all along to retrieve the plant, but it was supposed to be twelve year old Jim Hawkins in the row boat, not Liam. Unfortunately, the lad had broken his leg and had to be left behind at the last port. Killian tries to tell himself that the captain is just being cautious, like Liam said, tries to agree with his older brother that the tales about this place are just stories nursemaids tell to their charges at bedtime. Shadows that take you away to the island in your dreams, pixies who blow their dust on children to make them fly, mermaids that drag lazy children to their deaths - it’s all surely nonsense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They beach the row boat, and Liam slings his satchel over his shoulder. Inside is a sketch of the plant they are looking for. Killian narrows his eyes at the shadowy jungle before them. How are they ever to find one single plant in all this vegetation?</span>
</p>
<p><span><br/></span> <span>He and Liam hear the movement at the same exact moment and spin as they draw their swords. Standing before them on the beach is a lad about Killian’s age, dressed in a tunic made of green leaves and breeches crudely made of animal skins. The smile he gives them is full of mischief and something a bit more sinister. Killian’s spine crackles with suspicion. He glances at Liam, and it’s clear his brother doesn’t see the boy as a threat at all as the elder Jones casually lowers his sword. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there a king on this island, boy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lad smirks. “Just me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian narrows his eyes, and the boy glances his way with a knowing grin. Liam pulls the sketch out of his satchel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re looking for this plant, do you know it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy’s eyes widen. “Dreamshade? Of course I know it. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with it. It’s the deadliest poison.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam scoffs. “It isn’t poison, it’s medicine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Who told you that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My captain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He lied. This captain must be quite the ruthless killer. Nothing causes suffering like dreamshade.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” Killian asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian, don’t waste your time, he’s just a child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s jaw clenches. “I’m about his age. Am I just a child?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name is Peter,” the boy tells them, a gleeful laugh spilling out of him, “and if you’re tired of them trying to turn you into men, you can come and play with me and my lost boys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t have time for games,” Liam mutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suit yourself,” Peter tells them with a shrug, “if it’s dreamshade you seek, then you’ll have no trouble finding it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, with a crowing laugh, and to the utter amazement of both Jones boys, Peter launches himself into the sky and speeds away upon the clouds back into the recesses of the forest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Killian says slowly, “clearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>particular rumor was true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s just get this plant and get the bloody hell out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I agree to the getting out of here part, but maybe we should proceed with caution about the plant.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Surely you don’t believe that boy over our own captain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never trusted Captain Roberts completely, and besides, Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a native of this island. Perhaps we should -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian,” Liam cuts him off, “you don’t trust </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile his brother gives him softens the words, and Killian smiles back. “I trust </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then trust me in this,” Liam says with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Without order, without discipline to your superiors, this navy life won’t work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian wonders, not for the first time, if that’s the very reason this navy idea is a better fit for Liam than it is for him. Nevertheless, he sighs in resignation. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother, you know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with a nod of understanding and trust, the two of them plunge into the deep woods. The jungle is dark and damp, and Killian only has the trust in his brother’s navigational skills and his compass to find the way. Killian grips said compass in his sweaty hand, pushing aside the tendrils of fear that seek to grip his heart. There’s something ominous in this jungle, and he has the feeling they’re being watched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam squints down at the sketch in his hand. “I thought the boy said this plant was abundant here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps we’ve -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Killian can finish his sentence, a crowing shout fills the air, and filthy boys drop from the branches above them and burst from the thick foliage on all sides. Some have arrows notched to the bows they carry, others have spears resting upon their shoulders, while still others grip daggers in their fists. All of them have smeared their faces with mud and are garbed in either bits and pieces of the nature around them or tattered remains of clothing. They snarl and gnash their teeth more like animals than humans. He and Liam pull out their swords, but they are completely surrounded. Some of the boys only reach as high as Killian’s hip, clearly only eight or nine at the most. The last thing he wants to do is kill children, even if they do appear savage. The circle of boys part to allow their leader through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I introduce you to my lost boys,” Peter grins. “This island is ours with no grown ups to tell us what to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam shakes his head. “All we want is the plant. We told you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter tilts his head as he steps closer. “You’ve already grown up.” He turns to Killian. “But you - you could join my crew. I can tell you like to play.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For one, dreamlike moment, Killian wants to tell Peter yes. No expectations, no responsibilities - it sounds wonderful. Playing sounds nice, too. He hasn’t played since his mother passed, and when was that? How old was he? He can’t remember anymore.  The parents who were supposed to be there for you and protect your innocence left, leaving you at the mercy of rough hands and sinister eyes. Grown ups were the people who stole your childhood, who tossed your plaything into the deep, dark sea. He thinks of the stuffed rabbit Emma gave him, pure white and soft, bobbing farther and farther away from him. His mind can almost see it, with that bright pink ribbon. His heart beats wildly, he sways where he stands, and -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam steps closer, his shoulder brushing up against Killian, and it’s that contact that snaps the sixteen year old out of it. Yes, his brother. He can’t let Liam down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He expects Peter to scoff, get angry, or turn on him. Instead, his gaze takes him in and a slow, sinister smile plays across his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Casually, Peter turns to one of his crew and takes the spear the lad holds. With a subtle gesture, he gives the boys a command, and they all relax their postures, holding their weapons loosely. Pan spins the spear playfully as he turns back to Lieutenant Jones. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You still trust your captain, </span>
  <em>
    <span>lieutenant</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always,” Liam insists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter lifts the spear and taps it gently against Liam’s chest. “Let’s test that, shall we? That plant you seek? The tip of this spear has been coated with its sap. Your captain says it is medicine, I say it’s poison. Who should you trust?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Liam,” Killian pleads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam lifts his hand to still his brother. “I have no reason to trust you, boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes flash with a mixture of bloodlust and glee as he slashes the spear brutally across Liam’s chest. Liam cries out and stumbles to his knees, hand to his chest as blood stains his shirt. Killian shouts and falls to the ground beside his brother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a scratch,” Pan laughs, practically bouncing around them. The lost boys join in his revelry, spinning and giggling maniacally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Liam groans and falls back, his body shaking. Killian catches him in his lap. Through the gash in his shirt, the wound on Liam’s chest is turning black around the edges and vines of black extend outward, spreading across his torso. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happening to him?” Killian shouts at Peter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dreamshade poison. I told you. He’ll be dead in minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian goes pale as he looks at the boy in shock. It isn’t so much the casual way he spoke the words, but the spots of red in his eyes and the pleasure curling his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“K-Killian,” Liam gasps, reaching towards his little brother with a trembling hand. Killian takes it and clasps it as tears stream down his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay with me, brother,” Killian weeps, then he looks frantically at Peter. “Save him! Please!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy shakes his head. “No one can be saved from dreamshade.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian,” Liam says again, wincing against the pain, “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sor-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice cuts off and he goes limp in Killian’s arms, his hand slipping out of its hold and falling to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Killian screams. “No, no, no!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cradles Liam’s still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. Sobs wrack his body. He doesn’t know if the lost boys are still there or what they are doing. The whole world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a shame, really. I tried to warn him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s head snaps up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Anger fills his veins, but when he speaks, only despair colors his words. “He was all that I had.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Pan replies in a voice that almost sounds sympathetic. He crouches down next to where Killian still clutches his brother’s form. “And now that he’s gone, you finally have the look that all my lost boys share. The look of someone who is completely and utterly alone. An orphan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>********************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian watches Pan through the flickering flames of the campfire. The branch of a sapling rests in Killian’s lap, and his fingers twist a vine around each end to make a bow. Pan plays a song on his pipes, and several of the lost boys dance about to its melody. The song calls Killian, urging him to cast aside his pain and join the dance.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he won’t let himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squints up at the sun. He guesses it’s been about thirty three hours and . . . around twenty minutes since the lost boys tossed Liam’s body into the sea. Thirty three hours and twenty minutes without Liam. His entire life, Liam has been there, and now he’s gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yesterday at dawn, he snuck down to the beach. The rowboat was still there, but the Jewel of the Realm was no longer a hulking form shrouded in the fog. He had taken the rowboat out - not for long and not far - and the ship was nowhere near shore. Surely they hadn’t flown away on the Pegasus sail. Surely they would wait longer than that before giving up on the Jones brothers. He guessed they had simply sailed out of sight or found a cove to hide in. Yet despite his hopes, it’s obvious that his captain cares little for mere boys. No search party has been sent, and Killian doubts it ever will. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter reminds him often that Liam’s death is the captain’s fault. The fault of every grown up on that ship, actually. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They never cared about you. They never believed in you. Did you really think they would let you be a hero?</span>
  </em>
  <span> There’s truth to Pan’s words, Killian knows this, and he’d be lying if he said hatred for his captain didn’t burn within his breast. But he’ll also never forget that it was Pan who sliced the spear laced with dreamshade across his brother’s chest. He’ll never forget Pan’s gleeful smile of satisfaction or the spots of red in his eyes as Liam’s blood seeped his naval shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian eyes Pan across the fire now. The dance has reached a feverish pitch, and Killian already knows, in just thirty three hours as a lost boy, that the dance will soon fall apart into a wrestling match. Killian also knows that his only hope for survival is to play the part of a lost boy. Yet despite the naval blue ripped at the knees, despite the way he crowed when they set his naval jacket on fire, despite the mud smeared across his cheeks, Killian will never stop hating Peter Pan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Has Peter showed you how to lace that with dreamshade?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian turns to the boy who has plopped down next to him. They all have names, but he can’t remember this one. His black hair is curled tightly against his head, his teeth seem white despite their filthiness against his dark skin. Freckles are barely visible across the bridge of his nose, and his brown eyes seem different somehow from the other boys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You forgot my name already didn’t, you?” he chuckles. “It’s Starkey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Killian mutters, biting off the end of the vine that holds the arrowhead in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a trick to the dreamshade so you don’t nick yourself,” Starkey continues despite Killian’s unfriendliness. “Pan doesn’t always warn the boys. Thinks it’s funny.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian casts a curious glance Starkey’s way. There’s definitely something in those mahogany eyes . . . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?” Starkey asks, and Killian gets the impression he’s testing the waters somehow. The lad swallows, glancing nervously to where Peter is crowing over the inevitable wrestling match. “All boys but one grow up,” Starkey almost whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s heart beats faster as he stares into the flames. “You mean,” he whispers back, not looking at his companion, “the others do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m near thinning time,” Starkey replies, “so are Nibs and . Some are oblivious though. Ruffio, for example, he’ll no doubt stay faithful to the bitter end. I hate the look in their eyes when we turn on them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian turns his head in shock, but Starkey is slipping away into the jungle already. Starkey has obviously told him these things for a reason. But why?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the next few weeks go by, he and Starkey have more whispered conversations, and Killian is surprised how quickly they become friends. Starkey’s tale is similar to his own, having spent time as a slave on a schooner. The only difference is that his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped, a trauma that Killian is sadly able to imagine now that Liam bled out in his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, as the days go by, Starkey brings more boys into his confidence: Nibs, first, then Jooks, Noodler, Cecco, and Curly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hunting crew returns with a boar to roast, and that night there is a feast and a wild rumpus to follow. Though there is no alcohol, the whole thing reminds Killian of how he used to act when he’d drink too much rum. Killian feasts, he dances, even plasters a smile upon his face, but it’s all a show for Peter Pan. He can’t stop thinking of his brother for one, but there’s also Starkey’s cryptic words : thinning time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian plops down, exhausted, and grabs a coconut to guzzle some of its milk. As he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, he sees Pan at his side, leaning forward and scrutinizing his face. It takes all of Killian’s willpower not to startle back. For a long moment Peter studies him, and it causes a chill to run down Killian’s spine.  When Pan finally speaks, his voice holds barely contained anger and a trace of shock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a mocking kiss in the corner of your mouth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian blinks. “Wh-what are you talking about?” His mind goes to Emma, of course, not that she is ever far from his thoughts. Especially now with Liam gone, he longs for the wardrobe in Captain Roberts’ cabin and fears he may never see it again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There,” Pan accuses, pointing with a dirty finger, “perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. How did I not see it before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian glances around nervously as the party noises have gone silent. Several lost boys have drawn closer, concern furrowing their brows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He has a kiss, Peter?” one of the boys asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kisses are dangerous!” another one gasps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Peter answers, his eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of red, “a mocking kiss, and one he’s very fond of too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian swallows hard as he rises to his feet. The lost boys seem to be closing the noose around him, and he looks around frantically. There seems to be no choice but to fess up, hope for mercy, though Peter doesn’t seem the merciful type. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’ve kissed lasses. So what? I’m 16!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Pan hisses, “not</span>
  <em>
    <span> lasses</span>
  </em>
  <span>. One lass. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>special</span>
  </em>
  <span> lass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian clenches both fists, his face flushing at the way Pan spits out the words. Emma </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>special, and he won’t deny it. Ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t like girls,” Peter snarls, “they fancy themselves your mother, making you wash before meals and putting you to bed at a proper time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian narrows his eyes. “Um . . . I think you’re a bit confused.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t help his sass, has rarely been able to help it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your brother was obvious. He’d already chosen to grow up. But you, you tricked me. You can’t be a lost boy with that kiss always mocking me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian knows a heartbeat before it happens that the lost boys will fall upon him. What he doesn’t expect is to find his old naval sword in his hand or for Starkey, Nibs, and several others to fall in line just behind him. He glances at Starkey right before the two sides clash, and the other boy winks at him knowingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those on Killian’s side are all older, but they are fewer in number. And Starkey was right, not all the other boys close to thinning time are willing to turn on their leader. Rufio is the oldest and fiercest fighter, his loyalty to Pan clear in his gaze and his willingness to die. Killian guesses he is seventeen, and he’s broader and taller than Killian. Nevertheless, Killian has naval training with a sword. He holds back, however, unwilling to slaughter little boys, no matter the situation. Yet when he finds himself face to face, blade to blade, with Rufio, something shifts. Pan may not want his boys to grow up, but Rufio fights like a man. Unrefined and a bit desperate, but with strength and muscle behind it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All skirmishes cease as the sound of the blades clashing draws everyone’s attention. Ruffio fights dirty while Killian has been taught to fight like a gentleman. At first, Rufio’s style seems to be winning when he trips Killian then flings sand in his face. Yet Killian’s training has given him muscle memory, and even with his eyes burning, he acts instinctively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s blade pierces Rufio’s heart. The boy’s eyes widen in shock before he hits the ground, blood spreading quickly across his chest. The lost boys are silent. Chest heaving, Killian turns towards Pan, lifting his blood-stained sword. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a crew of my own now,” he tells the demon child, “and we’re leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan narrows his eyes, and before Killian can register what’s happening, he’s taken flight and making circles around him. Pan lands just behind Killian and startles him when he speaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I can’t allow mutiny in my ranks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian turns to face Pan, ready for a fight, but is unprepared when Peter plunges his hand into his chest. Killian gasps and chokes as Pan squeezes. Then he tugs and with a sharp pain, yanks Killian’s heart out. Killian’s mouth hangs open in shock as he presses his hand to his chest. There’s no blood. How is there no blood?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan lifts a glowing red object and holds it in Killian’s face - his heart. It pulses, bright red, with tiny swirls of dark flitting through it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at this, Killian Jones, you have a touch of darkness in your heart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian doesn’t know what to do, he can scarcely comprehend what is happening. He’s heard rumors of witches and warlocks who could steal a man’s heart. He never expected it of this boy, however. Killian drops to his knees as Pan squeezes his heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could crush it right now and end you,” Pan mocks gleefully, “but since you attempted to steal my crew, I’m thinking of a more fitting punishment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan leans forward and slams Killian’s heart back into his chest. In the same moment, Peter’s other hand snatches Killian’s abandoned sword and he brings it down upon Killian’s wrist, slicing off his left hand. Killian screams in pain, holding his severed appendage to his chest as he falls backwards. Starkey catches him and helps him to his feet, Nibs supports him on the other side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan kicks at the lifeless hand where it lies upon the ground. “They say a vein runs from the heart right down to the tip of your left hand. Fitting don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan and his loyal followers melt into the jungle, and Killian doubles over in pain. “Leave me,” he grits out to Starkey and Nibs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the two former lost boys in addition to the few others who had stood at Killian’s back refuse to leave him. They drag him through the jungle in the opposite direction of the rest of Pan’s crew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian Jones stands at the top of the highest peak in Neverland. The last month has been a time of healing for him. Healing from losing his hand. Healing from the loss of his brother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the thirst for revenge? That hasn’t waned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian looks down at the curve of metal at the end of his left arm. His jaw clenches as he gazes upon it, then back out to sea. His new crew had taken him to a couple of fairies - Tinker Bell and Tiger Lily. They had enough pixie dust between them to help him heal, though it was still a long, slow process. No amount of light magic, however, could give him back his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hook?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian turns to where Starkey stands further down the hill. That’s what his crew calls him now: Hook. His blue eyes gaze back out to sea at a familiar speck of white on the horizon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get the crew together,” he tells his faithful friend. “We have ourselves a ship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>**********************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For only the second time in his life, Killian Jones has bloodied his sword. Killing Rufio had been largely in self defense, and he had felt sick as he watched the boy’s life blood stain the ground. He doesn’t feel sick now as he strides amongst the naval crew he used to be a part of. He and his new crew had fought ruthlessly, and now their remaining enemies have been tied and gagged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t want to die today,” Killian announces, “you can pledge allegiance to me, Captain Hook.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A choking laugh escapes the gagged mouth of the Jewel of the Realm’s captain. Killian’s eyes flash when he hears it, and he strides to Captain Roberts. He leans down and yanks the gag from the man’s mouth with his hook. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is something funny?” he snaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are still nothing but a boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian leans close to the man’s ear and speaks to him in a whisper. “Really? Is that why you sent my brother and I like lambs to the slaughter? You sent mere boys to retrieve your poison?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the navy.” Roberts turns and spits in Killian’s face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind Hook, his new crew of former lost boys gasp in shock. Their new leader stands erect, calmly wiping the spittle away with his handkerchief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about loyalty, Roberts? When my brother and I didn’t promptly return, you sailed away and left us.” Killian clenches his jaw. “I see Hawkins is back on board. Were you returning to send him to this accursed island? Still a coward?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian doesn’t need the man to answer; he knows it to be true. Hawkins stands behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Starkey, his arms crossed as he coldly assesses his captain. Killian catches the boy’s eye and Jim nods his approval before Killian hefts his sword and plunges it into Captain Robert’s shoulder. The man flings his head back and screams. Seeing the blood spill upon the deck as he pulls the sword back reminds Killian of Liam, and filled with rage, he stabs the man in the other shoulder. Whimpers color the man’s grunts of pain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” he manages to choke out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian raises his hook and plunges it into the man’s chest. “I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.” He twists his hook viciously before yanking it out, and the man’s lifeless body crumples to the deck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence reigns on the deck as Captain Hook calmly straightens, wiping his bloody hook clean on his handkerchief. “Raise the black flag!” he shouts to Starkey. “This ship is now the Jolly Roger!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Pirate Crews</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Life circumstances continue to force Emma and Killian to grow up much too fast, and memories of one another begin to feel like a distant dream.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Now we reach the part of the story that has me nervous even though I am immensely proud of it. Emma and Killian will be separated for a bit here in the middle, but I just need ya'll to hang with me and trust me, okay? This is where the "fate" part of the summary begins to come into play.<br/>* This is also when Emma meets Neal and Killian meets Milah. I am writing these relationships more along the lines of being young and making immature decisions rather than villainizing Neal and Milah. In canon, Neal and Milah were both significantly older than Emma and Killian (which is an interesting parallel I have never thought much about before, come to think of it), but in this story, all four of them are the same age (17). There is no relation whatsoever between Neal and Milah in this story. Neal is also just Neal, not Bae. In other words, he has no connection to the fairy tale realms. He's just another runaway teenager.<br/>* I have to once again thank my betas shippingtheswann, distant-rose, and optomisticgirl for believing in this fic, especially this section and for encouraging me when I doubted myself. I especially want to give a shout out to Ro who encouraged me to write Milah in the way I had envisioned instead of changing her character to please the fandom.<br/>* So, fingers crossed, here we go! Got your tissues ready?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Emma: Age 17</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma wipes at her cheeks, frustrated with herself for crying. Those people don’t deserve her tears. She plops down on the bench in front of the bus stop in downtown Bangor, Maine, the one bag she always keeps packed at her feet. She’s fully aware of what running away at seventeen means. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There will be no more chances.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That makes her frustrated with herself, too. The fact that a tiny part of her still clings to hope, even now. Even after the words her foster father spoke just this evening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to think of our children, Emma, if you’re going to act this way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Our” children - and that didn’t include her. They didn’t even wait to hear her side of the story. They never asked why she got into the fight in the first place and never once thought that maybe the pot in her book bag wasn’t even hers. It was clear how they saw her - a screwed up orphan who couldn’t be trusted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sees the bus coming towards her, and she snatches her bag. She’s not sure how far she can get on the cash she’s got, but any place is better than here. She never belonged in the suburbs anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All she has in her pocket is a little cash that she lifted from her former foster mother’s purse. Portland - that’s how far the cash gets her, with a few bucks left over. She blows it all on a grilled cheese and onion rings in a greasy diner next to the bus stop. She gets as many refills of her soda as she can before the waitress starts to get suspicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A year in the suburbs has made Emma rusty, and she wastes way too much time wandering around the city. She hopes that she’s at least walking with a purpose. The most important rule on the streets is to never show vulnerability or weakness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It begins to rain, and she needs a place to sleep. The corner of her mouth kicks up in the hint of a smile when she sees what’s a block ahead near the pier. It’s a carnival, closed for the season. Better yet, there’s a gap in the gate of the chain link just wide enough for a slender girl to slip through. Surely there’s a warm, dry place to spend the night somewhere on the grounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Emma walks around the silent carnival, she has to admit that it’s a bit eerie. The swings move subtly in the breeze, their chains clanking. Rain pelts the colorful awnings and drips down the boarded up booths. The rain starts to come down harder, and Emma dashes across the grounds with her hoodie over her head. It’s getting dark fast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! Hey, you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice is jolting in the abandoned setting, and Emma’s feet move faster. She clambers aboard a dark carousel just as the pouring rain turns into a full blown storm. The wind whistles around the still carousel, and lightning illuminates the immobile faces of horses, zebras, and unicorns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma hears the shouts again, almost inaudible over the storm, and she drops down on all fours. She scrambles beneath the feet of the wooden menagerie to the very center of the carousel. She presses her back against the wood, heart pounding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The beam of a flashlight cuts through the darkness, and Emma claps her hands to her mouth as if that can help cloak her from the light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s hands slip from her face as she realizes that it isn’t the voice of an adult. Still, she looks around frantically, hoping to see a service door somewhere. A security guard would call the cops, but another teenager might do something ten times worse to a girl alone out here. Emma can’t see a damn thing between the flashes of lightning, so she crawls along the edges of the center of the carousel, hands groping for an opening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, stop!” the voice shouts again, and the light of the flashlight blinds Emma. Hands reach out, but she fights against them. “Stop it, I’m not gonna hurt you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only reason she believes him is because he releases her. Her eyes blink open, but all she can see is a shadowy figure leaning over her. The flashlight is rolling away on the floor of the carousel. The lightning flashes again, just long enough to show her the face of a teenage boy. They’re plunged back into darkness, however, just as quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You a runaway too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey listen,” he says, gently touching her arm, “I’m gonna go get my flashlight, okay? Don’t run off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma isn’t sure if it’s his youth or her fear of the storm that keeps her where she is. He comes back, shining the flashlight at her feet so he doesn’t blind her again. When he hunkers down in front of her, the light fully illuminates him, and she’s able to get a good look at him: extremely thick, slightly curly brown hair that falls into his dark brown eyes, a boyish smile, and a nose that’s a tad too large for his face. The hoodie he’s wearing is stained, ripped, and soaked from the rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Neal,” he tells her, “Neal Cassidy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She simply regards him suspiciously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is the part where you tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>name,” he adds with a grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma turns away from his gaze and crosses her arms stubbornly. He sighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get it, I really do, but you’re gonna have to trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do anything,” she snaps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want to survive, you do,” he replies solemnly. “Now, do you wanna see where we sleep or not? Cause it’s a lot better than this carousel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Killian: Age 17</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Man overboard!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crew of the Jolly Roger rush to get ropes as soon as the words leave Curly’s mouth from where he stands guard in the crow’s nest. It’s a mission they’ve been through many times, fishing lost boys out of the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Starboard!” Curly yells, and they hurry to that side of the ship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Jolly Roger, despite being captained by a boy of seventeen, is still the finest ship to sail the seas in any realm, just as it was under its other name - The Jewel of the Realm. And despite its crew ranging in age from twelve to eighteen, her familiar outline shimmering on the horizon is already enough to strike fear in the hearts of the most experienced sailors. For one, the Jolly Roger with its Pegasus sail has been known to drop upon a ship from the skies above. Then there are the tales of the demon pirate children and their one-handed captain, stories that have almost reached the status of legend. Enough so that Hook and his crew have to shed very little blood. Their intent is to avenge the death of Liam Jones, and to that end, crippling the navy of King George is enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian Jones is no longer the navy's disciplined sailor he was a year ago, but more importantly, he also is no longer a boy. Plenty of sailors underestimate him because of his age, but few seventeen year olds carry the experience or the tragedy of Captain Hook. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As for Pan, Killian hasn’t forgotten the day he slashed his brother with dreamshade. Though Captain Hook longs for a more violent revenge, the best he can do for the moment is rescue Pan’s boys from thinning, and occasionally, save a boy from Pan’s shadow. Not all boys come to Peter willingly, and many used to perish in the waves around the island until Hook started fishing them out of the water. Both practices have caused The Jolly Roger’s crew to swell over the past year. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On this particular day, his crew is fishing their latest recruit out of the water. Two in as many days? Pan doesn’t usually send his shadow out that frequently. Then again, he’d thinned a few recently. No matter how hard the pirates try to save them, not all Lost Boys realize the intent of their leader until it’s too late. Hook’s current cabin boy also fought off the shadow just yesterday. Killian grins as he thinks of Pan’s frustration. He lounges against a few barrels, crossing his legs at the ankles, and casually watches his crew work the ropes. He arches a brow as the wet figure flops to the deck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like it’s a pirate’s life for you, boy,” he says. As the “boy” stands, Captain Hook finds himself speechless, something that hasn’t happened in well over a year.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entire crew gasps, for standing before them, dripping wet, chest heaving, and fire in her eyes is not a lost </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> but a lost </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She wears a corseted dress that shows off an ample amount of her bosom, and Hook’s been in enough ports to know a lady of the night when he sees one. Yet she is, indeed, a girl. Not a woman. Anger flashes clearly in his suddenly darkening eyes. His crew misinterprets it as frustration towards the girl herself. They all eye her warily and step a few paces away from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook draws closer to her, removing his long leather duster as he does so. She lifts her chin defiantly, almost hiding the shiver that courses through her body. He swings the duster towards her, the words of a gentleman on his tongue, but she slaps his hand away. The crew murmurs nervously, but all Hook does is smirk at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are cold, lass, I was offering my coat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need your charity,” she spits, “all I need is to find someone, and I’ll be on my way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s brow arches as he regards her. “I see. Unfortunately for you, that will be rather difficult to accomplish without the aid of me and my crew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She props her hands on her hips and scowls at him. “Doubtful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He draws closer and leans forward to whisper in her ear. “No. Fact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She narrows her stormy gray eyes at him, and he’s close enough to see the swirls of blue in them. Some of her dark curls have stuck to her wet face, and he wants to reach out and brush them away, but he refrains. She strikes him as the type of lass who would not welcome such a gesture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden, high pitched shout of delight breaks the tension, and the girl lets out a cry as she shoves past Killian. She falls to her knees in front of Hook’s new cabin boy, a lad of only six, and envelops him in her arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mason!” she says, her hard facade slipping away as she holds the boy tight and cries with joy. “I’ve been so worried ever since that shadow -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay!” the boy interrupts with childish exuberance. He rushes over to his Captain and tugs on his hook. “Captain Hook let me join his crew! I’m his cabin boy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those eyes of hers become tumultuous again, and Killian regards her in contemplation. The boy is six, the lad told him so, but surely this girl can’t be his mother. He knows, however, that not all the girls in the brothels are of age, nor are they all there by choice. He guesses the young lady before him would have had to give birth at the age of only thirteen, at the most, if she truly is the boy’s mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What have you been doing to him?” she snaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Taking care of him,” Killian says calmly but with authority, “and a thank you would be in order that we fished him out of the sea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And kept him hidden from Peter Pan,” Starkey, his first mate, adds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian kneels before Mason. “How about you go below and get some hardtack from cook while I talk to your -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sister. And her name is Milah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian lets out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, your sister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay!” Mason chirps as he skips off. Killian watches him go fondly. They normally don’t take on boys as young as he is, but Mason had fought the shadow tooth and nail where most lads his age are eager to see The Neverland. He sees a jadedness in the boy’s eyes that is much too familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian stands and turns to Mason’s sister. He bows. “Milah, I believe it is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she says coolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I may have a word with you, m’lady?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tosses her hair saucily over one shoulder, yet takes the arm he offers her anyway. He glares at his crew and shouts for them to get back to work. He and Milah stroll to the ship’s bow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I ask,” he begins, knowing he must proceed with caution, “how you managed to follow your brother here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah sighs and lets go of his arm. “A week ago, Mason told me about the shadow coming to our window. He said it whispered to him about a place where orphan boys can be free. I’m ashamed to say that I brushed it off as a dream.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it kept coming back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah nods. “It began to frighten Mason, too. He said that the shadow wanted to take him away from me. I told him to keep the window locked. I have to work nights, you see . . . “ Milah trails off, a blush rising to her cheeks as she looks away from him in shame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Killian says softly, turning her chin gently towards him, “I was sold as a slave when I wasn’t much older than Mason. I know what it means to just survive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She holds his gaze for only a moment before turning away, her hard demeanor back in place. “Anyway, I came home one night to see the shadow for myself, but it already had Mason. I lunged for my brother, but it was too late, the shadow was flying away with him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then how did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> get here?” He glances up at the Pegasus sail fluttering above them. “It is no easy feat, lass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah smiles with a bit of pride behind her eyes. “I went to a sorceress in the village square. It took far too much of my coin, but she had the information I sought. She said if I stood before my open window and said </span>
  <em>
    <span>I believe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the shadow would come for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And it did,” Killian says, unable to keep the admiration from his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods. “Aye, but the sorceress warned me not to let the shadow take me all the way to the island. I wasn’t sure why, but figured I should listen, so -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So here we are.” Killian leans against the railing, admiring the way the sea air rustles her curls. She shivers again, and he once again offers his coat. This time, she accepts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here we are,” she says, suddenly shy. He sees now a hint of her real age. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How old are you?” he asks gently, hoping she won’t take the question as anything more than genuine curiosity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bites her bottom lip as she clutches his duster tighter. “Seventeen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His cheeks dimple with the force of his smile. “So am I .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you serious?” Her jaw drops. “The fearsome Captain Hook is just a boy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A boy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs teasingly, then cocks her head at him. “So, does the offer still stand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilts his head. “Offer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, a pirate’s life for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches out and adjusts the heavy coat that rests on her slim shoulders. “Yes, Milah. I think you’ll make a damn good pirate.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Emma: Age 17</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma stares out across the dark carnival grounds, pushing the swing around idly with her foot. She hears chains clink behind her and sighs wearily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Neal says, grasping the chains of her swing and spinning her to face him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He searches her face and gives her a boyish grin. “Don’t let them get to you, Ems.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She says nothing. She searches his eyes, for what she isn’t sure. He tugs the swing forward and captures her lips in a kiss. She kisses him back for a moment, then pushes gently on his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m still mad at you,” she grumbles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head and chuckles, which causes Emma a tiny prick of irritation. He lifts the metal bar of the swing nearest her and sits, his long, awkward teenage legs sprawled out on either side of hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were just messing with us. They know we’re a thing, so -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was my first time, Neal!” Emma snaps before he can finish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like I planned it or anything,” he shoots back, still with that infuriating grin on his face, “one thing led to another -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was there, Neal,” she tells him dryly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My point is, I didn’t mean for it to happen that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma blushes as the memories of the night before come back to her. “You said they wouldn’t be able to hear us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were going to moan that loud.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kicks him, but can’t help smiling shyly at his teasing. He leans forward and yanks her swing close to his until their noses are brushing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I also didn’t know you were going to cry out my name like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bites her lip at the heated look in his eyes. Honestly, she had yelped his name more than crying it out. It had hurt at first, but she’s too embarrassed to tell him that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I . . . “ she swallows thickly as he presses a kiss right at the corner of her mouth, “Neal, I . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” he mumbles against her neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma stops the explorations of his lips with her hands to his cheeks so she can look him in the eye. “I think . . . that is, I . . . I love you, Neal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles brightly then, pulling her close and kissing her with incredible passion. He doesn’t say anything back, doesn’t say he loves her too. She tells herself that’s okay, though. After all, they’re only seventeen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lily is the leader. Emma isn’t sure exactly how that came to be, though she guesses it has something to do with Lily’s intimidating demeanor. There’s something darkly intense about her, an edge behind her dusky eyes that makes everyone in their crew afraid to question her authority. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are seven of them, including Emma, forming a loose sort of family. Neal had been correct that first night - the supply warehouse they’re squatting in is a much better place to crash than the carousel. It’s a slightly macabre final resting place for anything broken or out of use, from rusted coaster cars to broken haunted house furniture. There’s even an old red sleigh and a troupe of ten-foot tall nutcrackers when the carnival had apparently been open for the holidays. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neal was also telling the truth that they’re all runaways. Emma, however, is the only actual orphan. Truth be told, she secretly thinks the rest of them are all a little self absorbed in their reasons to leave home. Neal’s dad apparently had become angry and bitter after his mother’s death. Emma has to keep from rolling her eyes every time Neal tells her how the man “just didn’t understand him anymore.” Claudia and Jamie felt overlooked in a big family, Sam just longed for adventure, and August chafed against his father’s rules. Then there’s Lily, adopted as an infant by parents who she claims never loved her and - naturally - didn’t understand her.  The whole “they don’t understand me” thing is a constant refrain, and one Emma is frankly a little tired of hearing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Neal had brought her to the group that first night, he’d gone straight to Lily who had regarded Emma, shivering and dripping water on the concrete floor, with casual disdain. Then her mouth had ticked up into a smile that Emma couldn’t quite read.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome to the family,” she’d told her, and only then had the rest of the group even approached her. They’d each carved out space amongst all the junk, using bits of this and pieces of that to make beds. There wasn’t really a “bed” for Emma, though, so Neal had offered to share his. When Jamie, who is only thirteen, snickered, Emma had blushed and said she’d figure something else out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh don’t be such a baby,” Lily had snapped with a roll of her eyes, “we already know he wants to fuck you. Emma’s staying with Neal, and that’s just how it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d said the last as if it were a royal proclamation, and everyone had scattered to go to bed for the night. Neal’s face had been bright red, and he’d not only mumbled an apology, but had been a perfect gentleman that first night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But only the first night. And now here she is, in the first real relationship of her young life, and five other kids heard every word of it. It’s humiliating and degrading. Yet Emma knows better than to mess this thing up. Lily’s crew means protection, it means seven kids pulling cons and picking pockets and sharing the spoils. And it may not be the family she’s spent her whole life dreaming of, but it’s better than being alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma isn’t sure where Neal is at the moment. She’s attempting to get a moment to herself, hidden behind the broken down cotton candy machine that makes one “wall” of the “bedroom” she shares with Neal. Claudia had swiped a pad of paper and some pencils from a discount store yesterday and hadn’t minded sharing with Emma. It’s been years since she’s sketched, but inspiration struck. Her pencil flies across the paper, and when she’s finished, tears sting inexplicably at the corner of her eyes. It’s the wardrobe. She bites on her lower lip and swallows back a sudden lump in her throat. She remembers the sparkle in Killian’s eyes and a bit of sadness sweeps over her as she wonders where he is right now. She shakes her head and crumples the paper in her hand. Why the hell is she thinking about that wardrobe today? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jolts and turns to see Jamie standing there. “Neal wanted me to give you this,” he tells her as he hands her a piece of paper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes as she takes the paper from him. “You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Jamie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His grin only gets wider. “Did Claude tell you she swiped some ear plugs for me? She doesn’t want your sex noises corrupting me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jumps up to smack the kid across his smug face, but he darts away laughing before she can reach him. Letting out a frustrated huff of breath, she opens the note he’s given her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meet me at the spot where we first met. xoxo Neal”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though the xoxo postscript is a little middle school, she can’t help the smile that fills her face. She heads eagerly for the carousel and finds Neal waiting for her. He grabs her around the waist and kisses her in greeting, and when they part Emma has to catch her breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where have you been all day?” she asks him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grin he gives her fills his face and lights up his brown eyes. “Working on a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. “A surprise? For who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs teasingly. “I was thinking maybe Claudia would like it - ow!” He rubs at where she punched him in the arm, though her indignation seems to only make his smile broader. “Just kidding, Ems, you know it’s for you. Come on!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neal pulls her across the carnival grounds almost at a run, and Emma is breathless again when he stops in front of an office door. She quirks a brow at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s in there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuffles his feet back and forth, nervous for the first time. “Um, just close your eyes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma eyes him suspiciously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs and complies. She hears the door swing open, and Neal tugs her hands gently to lead her inside. The door shuts behind her, and she feels Neal pressed up against her back. He leans forward and whispers in her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep your eyes closed until I say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she agrees, letting her breath out in a huff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry about how our first time went. I should have planned it - made it special. So . . . maybe this will make it up to you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tells her to open her eyes, and when she does, she sees a small, modest office with wood paneling, filing cabinets, and a musty smell. However, there’s also a couch along one wall that Neal has scattered with rose petals and on every flat surface in the room, tea candles flicker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?” he asks her, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I . . . I . . . “ Emma swallows around the sudden lump in her throat. “How did you even get in here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She worries that maybe she’s hurt his feelings, but Neal just shrugs. “I picked the lock. It was a simple one with no deadbolt, so . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma wanders around the small room, taking in every candle, reaching out to touch some of the rose petals. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re fake,” he tells her apologetically. “The convenience store didn’t have real ones. Oh, and I got you something else!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neal reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a key chain which he dangles in front of her. Emma reaches out to take it, smiling down at the round pendant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a swan.” She throws her arms around him and gives him a brief kiss. “I love it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wraps her arms tighter around him as he pulls her close. She buries her nose in his shoulder and revels in his embrace. Then, suddenly, a bright fluorescent light catches her eye. Just over Neal’s shoulder is another door, and through the square window in its center she sees something she remembers from her past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?” she whispers as she steps away from Neal and draws closer to the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s the arcade,” Neal tells her, “this office must be for the manager.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma turns the knob and is surprised to find it unlocked. She steps out into the dark arcade, drawing closer to the glass cube that pulses with a neon glow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder why that one’s still plugged in,” Neal muses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma presses her palm to the glass and draws closer. Voices from the past drift to the forefront of her memory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now, decide which prize you want, and focus.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Emma remembers the way the game had sparked, how Sarah hadn’t seemed fazed at all. The claw in this machine hangs immobile, and Emma gives a soft gasp as she sees the prize right below it - a stuffed white rabbit with a pink ribbon around its neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma?” Neal asks hesitantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What if you did have magic, Emma?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> <b><em>I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?</em></b></p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma?” Neal tries again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you believe in magic?” she whispers, her hand still pressed to the glass, her gaze still fixed on that stuffed rabbit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neal laughs. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but this life of ours ain’t no fairy tale.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tear slips from the corner of Emma’s eye and rolls down her cheek. “But there are things that can’t be explained. Aren’t there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neal steps closer and grasps her loosely by the elbow. “Emma, what’s wrong?  You’re kind of freaking me out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shakes her head, swiping at the wet spot on her cheek. “Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neal turns her to face him, his eyes searching hers carefully. “Is this still about the sex thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma can’t help it, she blurts out a laugh. “Don’t worry, Cassidy, you didn’t waste all those candles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His pupils widen as he grins eagerly. “Well, I’m relieved to hear that. Although I stole the candles so . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shakes her head and throws her arms around his neck. “It’s the thought that counts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Neal says softly, rubbing her arms, “everyone’s on edge because the carnival’s off season is almost over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma sighs and presses her forehead to his. “I know. Lily wants to have a meeting tomorrow to talk about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if we . . . took off on our own?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious. Where would we even go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, don’t tell Lily this,” he says, looking around nervously as if Lily might be hiding behind the pinball machines, “but I’ve had a few big scores that I’ve kept to myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously? How much?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough to get us pretty far,” he tells her confidently, then he’s yanking her hand eagerly back inside the office. He stops in front of a map of the United States hanging next to a small desk. Grinning broadly, he sweeps his hand across the expanse of it. “Come on, Emma, dream big. Where do you want to go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wraps his arms around her waist. “Only about you.” Then he releases her, and turns her towards the map. “Go ahead, pick someplace, and it’s yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mine? Or ours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma smiles, her cheeks flushed, then she closes her eyes, extends her hand and walks blindly towards the map. When her finger collides with its surface, she opens her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tallahassee,” she reads aloud, then she spins to face Neal, “is there a beach?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Florida.” He shrugs. “It’s all beach.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rests her hands on his shoulders and gives him a slow, tender kiss. “So we’re doing this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Tallahassee it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma really doesn’t like riding in the back of this van. Or more specifically, her stomach doesn’t like it. She moans and rests her head on Neal’s shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” he asks her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two aren’t naked back there are you?” Jamie asks in a loud, obnoxious voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, you little shit!” Emma yells back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Correction, Emma doesn’t like being in this van at all. This ugly, avocado van from the early 80s that smells like a sickening combination of pot and urine. Neal had said they were going to head off on their own once the crew left the carnival, yet here they are. They’d had a fight about it, but Neal had insisted that they needed a bit more cash. Lily had a big con planned, and once they pulled it off, getting to Tallahassee would be child’s play. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s stomach roils, and she scrambles over the three rows of bench seats to the front passenger seat. She almost pukes all over Jamie, which would have been great karma, come to think of it. She plops down next to Lily, who’s driving, and quickly rolls the manual window down. She sighs in relief once the cool air hits her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Car sick?” Lily asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Emma sighs as she presses her temple against the side of the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you can stay up here with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks. Where are we going, again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lily grins as she glances at Emma, then back to the road. “All the ski resorts up here are closing up for the summer. The people who own cabins up here are </span>
  <em>
    <span>loaded</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We can squat in style until fall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma narrows her eyes. “But Neal said we’d be flush with cash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lily gives her that icy look that says she finds Emma incredibly naive. “Of course we will. Before we head out, we’ll clean the place out. We’re talking major electronics - TVs, gaming systems, DVD players.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Emma says warily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just you wait,” Lily assures, “it’s gonna be incredible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On her third night in the vacation home in the mountains, Emma wakes up to a flashlight blinding her eyes and questions being shouted at her. As the cops escort her down the stairs and out the front door, she sees that the others have cleaned the place out already. Nothing but wires stick out of the wall in the family room where the tv, vcr, and gaming system had been connected. She’s barefoot and in a pair of pajamas that she’d found in the master bedroom drawer, but none of the cops seem to care as they put her in the squad car. She’s not handcuffed, though, maybe because she was too disoriented to resist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma sits there in the back seat, cursing her stupidity. She should have seen this coming the moment Lily smirked at her that first night. There were so many signs that the girl was a complete narcissist, and Emma had missed them all. How could she ever think Lily was her friend? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma reaches into the pocket of her pajama pants and clutches the small white stick she’d slipped inside before going to bed. Why she’d put it there, she doesn’t even know. She shouldn’t be surprised that  Neal bailed on her after the way he reacted when she’d told him. He’d literally recoiled from her, his face pale.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, they’d taken care of her, hadn’t they? The expensive silver from the dining room slipped into her bag was an especially nice touch. A clean break from the girl who was nothing but a burden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, what crew of teen runaways wants a pregnant seventeen year old?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Killian: Age 17</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s eyes blink open drowsily, and he doesn’t feel particularly ready to get out of bed. He shoves his pillow under his chest, groans, and then reaches out to pull Milah close. All he feels is empty sheets. He rolls over to look around the cabin, and there she is, clad in her shift, her dark curls a riotous mess down her back. She’s standing in front of the wardrobe, running her fingers over the intricate carvings that cover the doors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you get this?” she asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian hops up out of bed, wrapping the sheets around his waist. “It’s um, always been here, even back when this was a naval ship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you even keep in this thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, don’t!” he shouts, slamming his good hand against the door before she can open it. He isn’t wearing his hook, so the sheets he was grasping tumble to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah looks him up and down appreciatively and smirks. “Though I like the view better without the sheet, why are you so jumpy about a piece of furniture?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I um . . . I just . . .” Killian snatches up the sheets and holds them in front of himself while he turns and presses his back to the wardrobe. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. This wardrobe - it’s magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah’s eyes widen. “Magic? How?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It opens a portal to another realm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” she replies, skeptically. “Prove it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian blinks rapidly, his brain scrambling for a reply, but all that comes out is one word. “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” Her hands are on her hips, and her glare could curdle milk. “What are you hiding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not hiding anything!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you blushing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels his cheeks heat even more under her icy stare. What’s he hiding? Only that he checks the wardrobe every day? That despite the fact that he cares deeply for Milah, he still sometimes wonders where Emma is and if she’s okay? He feels so nervous under Milah’s intense stare that he stumbles sideways when she shoves him in the shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Milah!” he shouts as she flings open the wardrobe. He lets out a relieved breath when all that’s inside is an empty rod for hanging clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this some kind of joke?” she demands when she whirls back to face him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian collapses on the edge of the bed and reaches out a hand to her. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She eyes him warily but sits anyway. He runs his hand nervously through his hair, unsure where to begin. He finally decides to just start at the beginning when he was ten. Once he starts talking, he can’t seem to stop, and he tells her everything: his crush on Emma, the white rabbit, even the kiss. When he finally finishes, he looks at Milah sheepishly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah smiles softly and cups his face gently. “Why? Because you loved someone before you met me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian blinks rapidly. “Loved?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs. “I mean, it was puppy love, maybe, but it was real. And pretty cute, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilts his head in surprise. “Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She brushes a kiss to his cheek. “Really.” She looks back over at the wardrobe. “So you were nervous that I might end up face to face with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With Emma?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian rubs his face. “Aye, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah laughs. “I guess that could have been awkward, especially since you’re wearing nothing but a sheet right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah’s eyes turn a darker shade of gray as she runs her hands over his chest and pushes him back down on his cot. He was nervous six months ago when their relationship first turned physical. Milah was obviously very experienced and was used to men, not boys. Yet she told him as he held her close in the afterglow that before him, all she had known were men who took from her, often violently. He was different. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, there was a part of Milah he felt that he could never quite reach.Her home life had been difficult and became worse once her mother remarried. However, she had never told him exactly what life had been like with her stepfather. All she would say was that the man had planned to marry her off to a local farmer when she was fourteen, so she’d run away. The thing was, she’d taken Mason with her. Killian knew there had to be more to the story than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt as if Milah was holding back when they were making love, too. She was definitely teaching him things, and he certainly didn’t mind that. It was more that she seemed to get uncomfortable anytime Killian tried to initiate anything. She wanted to be in control, so he let her. As long as she felt safe, that was all that mattered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much to offer her. A seventeen year old boy with a mutilated stump instead of a left hand leading a crew of kids. Milah took to being a pirate naturally, however, wielding a sword and fighting just as well as the rest of them. There was even a type of manic joy on her face when they overtook a crew, as if she were getting vengeance on every man who had ever touched her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma had always been a mystery to him, but it was because her entire existence felt like a fantasy. Milah was a mystery to him in a different way. She confused him and fascinated him in equal measure. She was a deep well, jaded and wounded, that he wasn’t sure he could ever plumb even though he wanted to. Thoughts of Emma Swan, though they still plagued him at times, seemed to belong to an entirely different boy. A boy he wasn’t sure still existed. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Lost Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Still separated, Emma and Killian learn that fate gives . . . and fate takes away.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, Emma and Killian are still separated in this chapter, but you begin to see how their lives are following similar paths. We still need tissues, I'm afraid. The angst is still strong!</p>
<p>Thanks as always to the mods of the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon and my betas: @shippingtheswan, @optomisticgirl, and @distant-rose.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Emma: Age 18</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma can finally have the family she’s always craved. Every sharp and overwhelming pain from her womb reminds her of that fact. Pain that rolls through her, unceasing. She grasps the railing on the bed as best she can with her left wrist handcuffed to the bed. Her left ankle is shackled too, and everytime she writhes with the excruciating pain, it rubs her skin raw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor hadn’t been phased by the handcuffs, however. He’d even argued with her guards to take them off, but it was an argument he’d lost. He’s a bright spot amidst the pain, humiliation, and heartbreak of this day. He is surprisingly kind and gentle and reminds Emma of a grandfather who sneaks his grandchildren peppermints when their parents aren’t looking. That’s what they show in holiday commercials, anyways. The ones that made Emma long for a family of her own for so many lonely years. Yet fate is cruel, the timing never right, and this is a chance at a family she can’t accept. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The contraction subsides, but she knows that the reprieve will be far too brief. Whimpering, she gives the nurse a pleading look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t I have an epidural?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Emma, you didn’t get here soon enough. It’s time to push.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s heartbeat triples, and spots swim before her eyes. She thought there would be something for the pain. No one told her anything about what childbirth would be like. She read no books, she had no mother to talk to. She looks up at the ceiling as panic overwhelms her. The doctor puts a reassuring hand to her knee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can do this Emma,” he tells her, “just take a deep breath as I count to three, then bear down. One . . . two . .  Three!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma does as he says, and the pain is so great it feels like she might split in two. At the same time, the waves of the contractions demand that she push. Sweat beads on her temple and her legs tremble. She collapses against the hospital bed, exhausted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The baby’s crowning, Emma! I’m going to count again, and you push. One . . . two . . . THREE!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma pushes again, and she sees stars as a ring of fire seems to bloom between her legs. A strangled sob escapes her lips. Surely she can’t survive this; it’s too much. The lights in the room flicker, and she hears a lightbulb pop, but honestly everything could crumble around her and she wouldn’t care. She just wants this torture to end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The heads out, Emma,” the doctor says, his voice still calm and encouraging, “so the worst is over. Push for me again, okay? Ready?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Emma chokes out. Her body is trembling all over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you can,” the doctor says firmly. “Look at me, Emma. You can do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, her lips trembling. She wishes she had someone to hold her hand, but she’s all alone. Instead, she grasps the railings of the bed and when the doctor counts to three again, she pushes with all she has. A baby’s cry splits the air, and she collapses against the pillows behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a boy, Emma!” the doctor cries joyfully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma turns her head, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She’s afraid if she looks at him -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to hold him?” the doctor asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma grips the railing of the bed tighter and shakes her head, tears slipping down her face. She hears the nurse whisper something to the doctor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Emma,” the doctor says gently, “you can still change your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still refusing to look at the crying bundle in his arms, Emma shakes her head as her tears come faster. “I can’t,” she chokes, “I can’t be a mother.” How would she even know how?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor comes closer to the bed. “Some mothers at least like to say goodbye. It’s up to you. I just want you to know your rights.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s breath catches then. She’s terrified, but what if she regrets this moment later? What if she thinks back and wishes she had told him why? He’s just a newborn baby, but maybe somewhere deep inside, he’ll understand. She turns her tear stained face to the baby in the doctor’s arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll just hold him for a few minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor nods and gently lays the baby in the crook of Emma’s handcuffed arm. He’s covered in blood and afterbirth, but he’s still so beautiful, that Emma smiles. She reaches down to trace his cheek, and the tiny baby reaches up to grasp one of her fingers. She gasps in surprise to see what’s on the inside of his wrist: the same birthmark she bears on hers. She leans down and presses a kiss against it, then she whispers so only the baby can hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, you hear me? This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I still have time to serve. I want you to go to a family, not into foster care.” Emma presses her eyes closed as tears stream down her face. “I love you so, so much, please know that. I’m trying to do the right thing - the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears have completely blurred her vision when she gives the baby back, and as they wheel the hospital bassinet out of the room, her entire sore and weary body shakes with the violence of her sobs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Killian: Age 18</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Captain Hook turns eighteen quietly, telling no one of the significance of the day, not even Milah. He would have long ago forgotten when his birthday is if not for Liam, and now that his brother is gone, he sees no reason to celebrate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m eighteen now,” he whispers against Milah’s shoulder blade one night a week later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns in his arms, but he can’t see her face in the darkness of the cabin. “You’re a man now,” she tells him, tracing his jaw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s all she says, tucking herself beneath his chin and going quiet. He thinks of Pan, the only boy who never grows up. Killian’s hand traces Milah’s spine gently, and he feels a tiny bit better when she sighs softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mason is another year older as well, and his legs are long beneath the cuffs of his trousers. Hook finds the naval uniform that once belonged to Jim Hawkins, former cabin boy of the Jewel of the Realm and current loyal member of Hook’s crew. Mason has to roll the pants up and tie them with a bit of rope, but they fit him well enough. Seeing the uniform takes Killian back to that fateful day when he was sixteen. How would things have been different if Jim Hawkins hadn’t broken his leg? Would Liam still be alive?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs off such thoughts as he stands at the helm three weeks after becoming a man, and ruffles Mason’s hair. Milah smiles at her little brother fondly, and Killian wonders if he can ever get the softness from her that Mason elicits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so melancholy lately?” she asks him as he leaves the wheel to Starkey and stands at the prow scanning the horizon with his spyglass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans against the railing and peruses him slowly. “I don’t know. Ever since you turned eighteen -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That has nothing to do with it,” he interrupts in a scoffing tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah rubs her hand up and down his arm. “Is it what the fairies told us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He arches a brow and says dryly, “What do I care about pixie dust?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Milah shrugs, “Well, Tinker Bell did say that it’s tied to the island somehow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good riddance,” he grumbles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian Jones,” she snaps, shoving him in the shoulder, “I’m trying to talk to you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m telling you there’s nothing to talk about!” he shouts back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most girls would have cried or at least gotten teary eyed, but Milah isn’t most girls. “Tiger Lily was right. You’re a jackass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” he apologizes, grasping her around the waist before she can storm off. She pretends to fight him, but the sparkle in her eyes betrays her. He brushes a kiss to her lips, “I just have a lot on my mind, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too,” she whispers as she fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck. “The young boy Tiger Lily said Pan is looking for . . . do you think it could be Mason?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about that love, you know that I - wait a minute,” Killian sets Milah away from him suddenly, scanning the fog that shrouds Neverland once again. He swallows nervously when he sees the dinghy cutting slowly through the mist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is it?” Milah asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get Mason,” he says sharply, “hide below deck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll hide him,” she replies, “but I’ll return to fight by your side.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook’s eyes flash as he uses his steel appendage to pull her gently closer. “No, Milah. You’ve never come face to face with the lost boys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve fought grown men!” she argues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“These aren’t mere boys. And don’t ask me how, but I know Pan is with them. Please,” he impolores, “promise me you’ll stay below.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, her chin dropping to her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go,” he tells her, shoving her gently, and she races across the deck, grabbing Mason as she goes. Hook strides towards the port side as Curly calls out from the crows nest that a boat is approaching. Lost boys are soon scrambling up the side of the ship like ants, and Pan swoops through the sky, crowing. Hook refuses to glance upward, standing with his arms clasped behind his back as Pan’s new right hand, Felix, scrambles over the railing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Felix swings his club in an arc and then rests it against his shoulder. “Hook.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Felix.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We know you’re hiding -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lost boy?” Hook arches a brow. “We aren’t hiding that at all, lad. Look around you. My entire crew are former lost boys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s one I want in particular,” Pan says as he lands just behind Killian, “a young one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re all young,” Killian snaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gets right in Captain Hook’s face. “Just give me the little one, and I’ll leave your crew alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never!” a voice shouts, and Killian winces at the sound. He turns to see Milah standing there, her hair wild, her eyes blazing, and a cutlass in her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A girl!” exclaims one of Pan’s crew, and when Killian glances at the lad he watches as the teenager’s gaze sweeps hungrily over Milah’s form. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Milah,” Killian says to her in a warning tone, but Milah simply advances to fight at his side as she always does. He grumbles, “bloody stubborn woman,” under his breath as he pulls his own sword from its scabbard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to fight for a child?” Pan snaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shrugs. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lunges forward, but Peter blocks the sword with his dagger. With a shout, pirates and lost boys fall upon one another with their weapons and the clash of steel rings through the air along with the zing of arrows. Pan, as usual, drives Hook mad by taking to the air and swooping just out of reach of his sword time and again until the boy’s arms begin to pinwheel wildly and he grasps for the rigging before falling to the deck. It surprises Killian and he misses the window of opportunity to take Pan down. Peter maneuvers Hook across the deck, until the pirate finds himself fighting both Pan and Felix. He spins, his coat swinging around him, parrying the strikes of both boys, until suddenly he’s only facing Felix and Pan has transported himself with his magic right behind -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Milah!” Killian cries. “Look out!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spins around, but she isn’t prepared for Peter Pan to strike out with his hand, not his sword. It plunges into her chest, and Milah chokes out a strangled breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” Killian screams. He pushes Felix aside, his sword and hook slicing with unrestrained rage through one lost boy after another in his haste to get to Milah. He gets to her side just as she falls, and he catches her in his arms, his sword clattering to the ground. Above them, Pan begins to squeeze, and Milah gasps in pain. Her hand comes up, trembling, to touch Killian’s cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” she whispers as her heart turns to dust in Peter’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you,” Pan sneers, letting the remains of Milah’s heart flutter to the deck, “girls are nothing but trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Milah!” a small voice cries out, and everyone on deck, even the lost boys, have fallen silent as a tearful Mason flings himself over his sister’s still body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rage swells in Killian’s heart, and he lunges with a feral cry at Peter Pan, hook aloft. The demon boy shoots into the sky, crowing and laughing as the sharp steel misses him by a hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pan!” Felix calls out, and Killian turns, his heart lurching in fear to see Mason’s skinny arm clutched in Felix’s hand. “He doesn’t have the mark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Pan’s face contorts in rage as he swoops in towards Mason, but before he can get there, Hook intercepts and scoops the little boy up into his arms. He slashes out with his hook, and Peter howls as the tip slices across his leg. The boy who never grows up tumbles bleeding from the sky, landing in the dinghy with a thud. The lost boys scramble over the railing after their leader in fear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian leans over the side of the Jolly Roger, Mason clinging to his neck, sobbing. “I had my revenge against the crown,” Hook shouts at the retreating boat, “I will have it against you as well, Pan, I swear it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter Pan stands in the middle of the small boat and shouts back, “Try living long enough, old man!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Do You Believe in Fairies?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In different realms, Emma and Killian still think of the other as they search for something to fill the hole in their hearts.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Yes, Emma and Killian are still separated in this chapter. Before you yell at me, though, this chapter also shows how often they still think of one another. Bear with me, I swear, all of this will make sense later, and I promise a great (steamy) payoff ;)<br/>*This chapter also introduces more of our favorite Once characters both in Neverland and the Land Without Magic. Emma does end up in Storybrooke, but I will go ahead and make something abundantly clear: it is an ordinary (albeit quirky) small town in this story. Some of the scenes in the Neverland section may sound familiar to some of you. I have had head canons for ages about Killian’s backstory with the fairies and with Wendy which I explored previously in fics that I have since deleted. They have been resurrected here, which I love because they are now fully fleshed out and in my own au! Anyways, I hope you enjoy my au versions of these characters.<br/>* Once again, massive thanks to the mods in the CSRT, especially @optomisticgirl who helped me handle self-doubt and writer’s block. B also was invaluable as a beta and in Discord chats as I tried to figure out how magic would work in this au. My other beta, @shippingtheswann whipped this chapter into shape, pointing out sooo many plot holes. Girl, where would I be without you?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter Six: Do You Believe in Fairies?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Emma: Age 19</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The taxi drives off behind her, and Emma startles, grasping the straps of her meager duffel bag tighter as she looks up at the quaint inn before her. The small wooden sign out front swings in the breeze: Granny’s Inn. Behind it, facing the opposite street, is Granny’s diner. The two are attached by a stairwell. Convenient, since Emma will be working there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hoists her bag with a deep sigh as she walks up the stone steps leading to the inn. In her jacket pocket is the recommendation letter from her parole officer. She doesn’t think she’ll need it, but she has it at hand just in case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bell rings over the door when she enters, and an elderly woman with white hair and bifocals perched on her nose bustles out. With a pang, Emma thinks of Martha so long ago, though this woman has a stern look on her face, almost a scowl, that Martha never would have borne upon her countenance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need a room?” the woman asks, all business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Emma hesitates, fishing the letter out of her pocket. It’s crumpled from the cab ride, and she feels a bit foolish as she holds it out like it’s proof or something. “I’m Emma Swan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” the woman cries out, flinging both hands in the air as she bustles around the check-in desk. “My apologies. I was expecting you this evening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. I didn’t think -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No trouble at all.” She glances at the paper in Emma’s hand. “I don’t need that, I’d know you from Marco’s description.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman heads for the stairs, gesturing for Emma to follow. The inn is warm and homey, with vintage wallpaper and wall sconces illuminating the stairs. She follows the woman to the second floor and down the hall to room 210.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This has a view of Main Street,” she tells Emma as she pulls an old fashioned key from her apron pocket and inserts it in the lock. “It’s a suite with a little sitting area and kitchenette, though you’re welcome to take your meals in the diner. On the house, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh, but I couldn’t. It’s your business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granny waves her off. “I know a waitress’s salary isn’t much. How are you ever to get back on your feet if you have to spend every dime just to live? Besides, it was all in the agreement I sent you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma just nods, still nervously clutching her duffel. She doesn’t want to tell her that she didn’t actually read it. All the fine print and the legal jargon had made her head spin. Marco had said it was the best deal for a girl like her, and how many options did she have, anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Storybrooke is a nice little town,” Granny says as she pulls the curtains open to let in more light. “The last girl I helped, Ashley, ended up staying. She’s even engaged to a nice young man who works at the cannery.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Granny comes closer, studying Emma’s face carefully. “Ashley was pregnant when she came. Marco told me you just gave up a baby. I want you to know, I’ve been there. Back in my day, they just shipped me off to a convent and ripped my little boy from my arms. I didn’t even have a say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma glances away nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said my piece, and I won’t bring it up again. Just know this is a safe place, and I’ve got your back. And I don’t answer to anything but Granny, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Emma can say anything else, the woman is gone. Emma sinks down on the antique sofa situated in front of the fireplace. She feels out of place, out of sorts. Granny seems nice, and it’s clear she means well, but Emma isn’t staying here. Once she’s saved up enough money, she’s getting as far away from Maine as she possibly can. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tallahassee still sounds nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>**************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma stands in front of the large, mahogany piece of furniture, her dry toothbrush dangling from her lips. It doesn’t look like the one from when she was ten and sixteen: the carvings are far more ornate, and the trim is all wrong, yet her fingers itch to open it and her heart rate picks up just a bit. She’s just about to reach for the little pewter knob when a knock sounds on the door. Emma opens it to find Granny standing there with towels in her arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought you might need these tonight,” she says, bustling in without an invitation. “You’re not a guest but an employee, so washing these is your responsibility. The laundry is in the basement. Do you know how to do laundry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Ashley turned her sheets pink.” Granny says this matter of factly, and Emma stifles a laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Emma gathers the courage to ask, “this wardrobe . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wardrobe?” Granny asks, brow creased in confusion. She sees what Emma is gesturing at, and nods. “Oh, that. It’s not a wardrobe, it’s an entertainment center. Just fits the decor better. There’s a tv behind those doors. A small one, and it’s just the basic cable with fifteen channels or so. Better than nothing, though, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, goodnight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s shoulders fall after Granny leaves. An entertainment center. Nevertheless, she holds her breath when she flings it open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing but a twenty inch television set, just like Granny had said. It seems even smaller in the large cabinet, and it sits atop a cable box. Emma sighs and closes the doors. What had she expected, anyway? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s feet are sore as she sags against the prep sink and removes her apron. Ruby sees her and laughs in camaraderie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The first day is always the toughest,” she encourages. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Emma groans. She pulls a wad of bills out of her apron pocket and thumbs through it. “I got good tips, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby smiles. “The breakfast crowd is always generous. Lunch? Not so much. Too much take out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shoves the cash into the pocket of her jeans. There’s no uniform here, just the matching retro aprons with the pink frilly trim. Ruby is dressed vastly different from Emma in a tiny skirt and a midriff top. Emma wonders if this got the brunette more tips. Not that Emma is going that route, no matter how much she wants to get to Tallahassee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of lunch,” Emma says, “I’m starving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take a seat out there, and I’ll bring you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grilled cheese and onion rings with a Coke?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby winks. “Coming right up!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma heads for one of the smaller, two seater booths in the back near the jukebox, not wanting to take up room needed for real customers. She still feels a bit guilty taking food from Granny’s business. Of course, Ruby is Granny’s actual granddaughter, and she didn’t bat an eye at Emma’s “order.” She’ll just have to try and get used to generosity, she supposes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s surprised when Ruby comes out almost immediately, but it isn’t her lunch on the waitress’s tray. With a flourish, she sets a mug of hot cocoa down in front of Emma. It’s even topped with Emma’s favorite: whipped cream and cinnamon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“From a secret admirer,” Ruby chuckles with a roll of her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma frowns down at the beverage, and then her eyes flash as the cop she’d served at the bar earlier walks over. She’d recommended the whipped cream and cinnamon, telling him it was her personal favorite. The pervert! He stops at her booth and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, she lifts the mug and flings the cocoa right at him. It wets the front of his dress blues and drips from the badge at his hip. He glances down in shock at the front of him then back up at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do know I’m nineteen, right?” she snaps. “I may not have the most spotless past, but I’m not an easy score.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cop calmly grabs some napkins and pats at the stain on his shirt. “I agree one hundred percent,” he says, focusing on his shirt and not her. “I’m a thirty-two year old man. However, that creep Walsh Oaken over there is thirty-six and likes to sniff around Granny’s girls. I wanted to warn you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s brow furrows in confusion as she studies the cop, then looks over his shoulder at a skinny man who’s also perched on a stool at the bar. He winks at her, and Emma’s face turns red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, you mean that guy at the bar? The one who’s been sitting two stools down from you since you came in?” Emma attempts a wry grin at the cop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles, and Emma thinks that his eyes look kind, though also sad. The creep Walsh obviously overheard her conversation with the cop, and she suddenly wants to crawl under the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke,” he tells her, extending his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God,” Emma groans, “the sheriff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs again. “It’s okay. I admire your spunk. Guys like Walsh obviously have no hope of taking advantage of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ew,” Emma says, her nose wrinkling, “he’s gross and old.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll overlook the old comment,” he tells her, “since he and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>too old for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Graham,” Ruby purrs as she sidles up with Emma’s plate of food. The sheriff’s eyes light up, and Emma is surprised when Ruby, over the top flirt, actually blushes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Ruby.” He replies, and Emma almost laughs at the way the man’s voice hikes up an octave. He clears his throat nervously, then says, “Well, duty calls, ladies. I’ll see you tonight, Ruby?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know it,” the brunette tells him with a wink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby watches him go, and the sheriff even glances back in the doorway. Emma takes in the exchange with growing humor. When Ruby turns back around, Emma arches both brows at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and the sheriff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh,” Ruby admonishes, waving at Emma, “not so loud, my Granny doesn’t know about us yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would she care? He seems like a nice guy. And you’re old enough for him.” Now that she knows he isn’t a pervert, Emma can acknowledge the man is attractive. She has eyes, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby shrugs. “Well, he lives here in the inn. Granny likes that he does, says he makes her feel safe, especially with the girls she takes in. If she found out I was sleeping with him . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come on, Ruby, Granny seems more understanding than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Ruby gives Emma a sly grin, “but there’s also something thrilling about sneaking around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby waggles her eyebrows. “Enjoy your lunch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*******************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The envelope is fat with bills and Emma smiles at the heft of it before she slips it beneath the panties in her underwear drawer. Not the most original of hiding places, but it works. Granny offered to take her to Storybrooke Savings &amp; Loan to help her open an account, but Emma had declined. It’s too permanent, for one, like making a commitment to this quirky little town. But Emma also knows that plastic can be traced, and she has no desire to be found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or does she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pop and boom of fireworks shatters the silence of her room, and it's followed by a chorus of </span>
  <em>
    <span>oohs </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the families gathered below in the streets of Storybrooke. Emma merely crosses the room to draw her drapes closed before plopping down on her bed and turning on the tv. Fourth of July celebrations are playing on almost every station, but the last thing she wants to look at are families in the crowds with wide eyed children balanced on their hips. She could walk downstairs and out the door for that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After she flips through the main four stations and PBS, she finally finds movies instead of fireworks. She’s not surprised by her options: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Independence Day</span>
  </em>
  <span> (naturally), </span>
  <em>
    <span>Top Gun </span>
  </em>
  <span>(of course), and a western she’s never heard of before. What’s more American than a western, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She settles for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Top Gun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though she’s seen it so many times she can quote it by heart, wriggling beneath the covers and propping the pillows behind her head. Ruby had ragged her about living like an old woman, Granny had given her a reprimanding glare over her bifocals, and Graham had gently asked why she insisted on hiding. She supposes he’s right - she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> hiding, but it’s for the best. This is merely a stop on her journey, and it’s best for everyone if she doesn’t get too attached. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She may live like an old lady, she won’t deny it, but Emma is still only nineteen years old. Going to sleep when even toddlers are gazing in wonder at fireworks is something Emma finds physically impossible, and by the time the smoke fades from the harbor, she’s antsy and slightly claustrophobic. She crosses to the window and sees the crowd slowly dispersing but not in any hurry to get home. She lets the curtain fall back into place and plops back down to watch Maverick and Goose for a bit longer. Once the credits roll, Main Street is finally empty, the few remaining revelers having headed down to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma grabs a light sweater that’s draped over her desk chair and heads quietly downstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This isn’t the first time she’s made her way through the quiet streets and headed to the docks. It’s one of the things she’ll miss when she leaves because Neal had been wrong. Emma looked it up - Tallahassee isn’t on the coast of Florida. The nearest beach will be over an hour’s drive away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma sighs as she reaches the boardwalk, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself as a cool breeze sweeps across the water. She leans against the railing, looking out at the barges from which they’d shot off the fireworks. She can hear faint shouts from the crew as they clean up from the festivities. She glances over to her left and sees a sailing ship bobbing in the water where it’s tied to the dock. She thinks of a boy from years ago with sea-chapped lips, messy hair that smelled faintly of salt water, and bright blue eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three years ago, that’s when she saw that boy last. Has he changed as much as she has? Emma crosses her arms upon the wood railing and bends over to rest her chin atop them. As she often does when she comes here, she thinks of the first boy she really kissed and wonders if he’s still sailing the ocean. Maybe he’s a lieutenant now, like he had hoped. Maybe he has a nice, sweet girl who waits for him at the end of each voyage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma isn’t sure why she entertains these fantasies of a boy she knew so briefly. Perhaps because it’s better than other places her thoughts could wander. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only when her eyelids begin to droop and goosebumps rise on her arms does she leave the docks. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a penny. She holds the copper to her lips and whispers “Tallahassee.” Why she needs to get there so badly, she can’t even say. Nevertheless, she says it like a promise before tossing the penny into the waves. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Killian: Age 19  </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “Bloody fairies,” Killian mutters as he makes his way deeper into the thick jungle. Tiger Lily and Tink just had to bring up Milah and the need to avenge her death. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops at another thick tree truck; the only ones on the island that grow so large and tall. As the fairies had instructed, he slashes his hook across the smooth bark. He leans close on bated breath, and within minutes he has his answer: thick, black viscous liquid seeps from the tree. Hook retrieves a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal from his duster pocket and makes a mark. So far, he’s counted two dozen dead pixie dust trees like this one and only half a dozen that are still producing.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Half an hour later, sweat is trickling down his back as he hacks his way through the dense bush. Suddenly, Killian spins, his hook at the ready as someone or something comes crashing through the jungle foliage to his right. He takes cover behind another thick pixie dust tree and waits. Pan’s crew are breaking in a new lost boy, most likely. Killian is shocked when it’s a girl, not a boy, who stumbles into the small clearing near his hiding place. Her blonde curls are a matted mess filled with bits of leaves and bracken, and her white gown is tattered and stained. As she scrambles to her feet, the moonlight hits her face, and Killian can make out the sheen of tears. Her blonde hair reminds him of Emma so long ago, and he can scarcely breathe for a moment. Then he blinks, his eyes clear, and he obviously sees that this girl’s hair is darker than Emma’s was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian is so distracted by this strange turn of events, he doesn’t even hear the lost boys coming. They have the girl surrounded before Killian can get a bearing on the situation. The girl spins in a circle, frantically searching for an opening of escape, chest heaving in panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Félix stalks towards her, smacking his club repeatedly into his open palm. A phantom pain throbs where Killian’s hand used to be as the urge to pummel Félix with both fists surges through him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” the girl begs, “just leave me alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What happens next is a blur of white hot rage. The boys advance, Wendy is on the ground screaming, and Killian is suddenly in their midst, flinging lost boys right and left. Félix has Wendy on the ground by the throat, and Killian turns on him next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Run!” Killian yells, but Wendy simply stares at him with wide eyes, trembling as she curls herself into a ball. An image of a nine year old boy, cowering behind the barrels in a ship’s hold, swim up in Killian’s memory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Félix stalks towards him, the rest of the lost boys regrouping at his back. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Captain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s all it takes to send Killian over the edge. He swings with his hook, slicing down the side of Félix’s face. The young teen howls in pain, and stumbles backwards, blood gushing from his wound. The other lost boys falter as Félix stumbles to the ground, then turn and flee. Wendy has backed herself against a tree, still cowering in fear. Growling in frustration, Killian hauls her to her feet and commands her to run. When she makes no move to obey, he plunges into the jungle, hauling her along with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few moments later, Wendy comes to herself and begins struggling in his grasp. “Let me go!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops, turns, and snaps at her in frustration, “I’m trying to help you!” He gives her a small shake, but stops when he sees the terror in her eyes. He looks down at his hook, still dripping with Félix’s blood. He suddenly realizes what he must look like to her. Trembling slightly, he drops her arm and steps away from her. He points towards a faint trail to his left. “There’s a fairy nearby. Her tree house is that way. It’s hidden from the lost boys. You’ll be safe there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wendy narrows her eyes. “You’re . . . saving me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of lost boys echo through the jungle. “Weeeendyyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! We only want to play!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian gestures with his hook, “Go!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once Wendy is heading for the tree house, Killian takes off in the opposite direction, crying, “Wendy! Run!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can hear the lost boys behind him, following him far away from the little lost girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sounds of the lost boys are distant once he stumbles onto the beach where he’s left the dinghy. He hasn’t finished his task with the pixie dust trees, but that will have to wait. The lost boys were never supposed to know he was here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bloody fairies,” he mutters again as he scrambles into the boat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Going somewhere, Captain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook’s blood boils as he turns to find Pan hovering nearby, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted at a cocky angle. “Do you have a death wish, boy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t kill me,” Pan scoffs, “or you would have by now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can try!” Killian growls, leaping from the boat and onto the sand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Predictably, Peter flits about around Hook’s head, but his taunts aren’t what the pirate expects and makes his blood run cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t save them both, Hook.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re old friend Tiger Lily or your new friend Wendy? Which should die today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian gives a feral yell as he grabs ahold of Pan’s ankle and flings him to the ground. He pins the demon there, his hook to the lad’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What game are you playing now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan smirks, as if cold steel at his jugular is of no consequence. “Wendy was a gift for Felix, and you ruined it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You hate girls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But teenage boys have needs, unfortunately. It was long overdue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian presses his hook just enough to break some skin. “Wendy is safe, and what do you know of Tiger Lily?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter laughs. “My crew has Tink’s treehouse surrounded. And as for Tiger Lily, well . . . let’s just say I hope she can hold her breath long enough for you to save her. Skull Rock fills up with water when the tide comes in, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian hauls the imp up and tosses him across the sand as he plunges back into the jungle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have time to save them both!” Pan calls after him. “The tide is coming in soon, Hook!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian ignores him as he slashes his way through the thick brush towards Tink’s place. He’s racing so fast to get to the innocent little girl that he doesn’t see the flash of two blond heads coming from the opposite direction. He collides with Tinker Bell with such force, she tumbles to the forest floor, taking Wendy down with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the bloody hell, Hook, are you trying to kill us!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tink, thank the gods!” Killian exclaims as he hurriedly pulls first Tink and then Wendy to their feet. “Pan said -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That the lost boys had found my hideout?” Tink finishes for him. “Yeah, I got that already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry!” Wendy screams when they hear shouts in the jungle behind them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Tink orders, yanking Wendy by the arm down a ravine nearby. Killian brings up the rear, his sword at the ready in case he needs to slow down the enemy. Soon they’re racing along the bed of a trickling stream, and the sounds of the lost boys fade into the distance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink stops in front of a large boulder covered in moss and pushes at a curtain of thick vines to reveal a shallow cave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Killian mutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I look dense to you, Hook?” Tink snaps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian arches a brow and tilts his head at the fairy. “Don’t answer that,” Tink mutters, and Wendy giggles. He winks at the child and is pleased when he elicits a blushing smile from her. Tink taps on the back wall of her cave with her wand, and a door appears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bloody fairies,” Killian says for the third time that day, but this time with affection. That makes him think of - “Tiger Lily!” he cries. “Will you two be okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink rolls her eyes. “Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives a tremulous smile to them both, then turns back, taking a different route back to the beach from the way they had come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*********************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Skull Rock is a hulking menace in the distance, staring at Captain Hook with vacant eyes as he rows across the choppy waters. Rowing isn’t easy with one hand, even with his hook, and he wishes he’d thought to bring one of his crew along today. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be performing a rescue mission.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Killian curses himself, because – once again – he has mucked everything up. Just like with Milah, he has put a friend in danger. He just hopes Tiger Lily forgives him for going to rescue Wendy first. If she lives, that is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Curse that wretched demon of a boy! His stomach turns remembering the lad’s mocking laughter on the beach.         </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The tide is rising faster, filling up the cavernous, yawning mouth of Skull Rock. Killian rows harder and swears again as the waves crash against boulders as he draws closer to his destination. Killian’s row boat is almost knocked sideways as he makes his way through the mouth of Skull Rock. There’s Tiger Lily, lifting her chin to call for help. The water splashes into her mouth, and her thick braids float on the surface of the water. Killian abandons the boat; there’s no more time. He dives beneath the waves, kicking his way to where Tiger Lily is tied to a rock. He comes up for air in time to see Tiger Lily’s wide and panicked eyes just as the tide completely closes over her. Killian inhales deeply and dives back under, hacking at the thick rope with his hook. Finally, it breaks free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Killian grabs Tiger Lily around the waist and kicks upward. When they surface, they both gasp for air. The waves are beating harder, sending the row boat farther away from them. If they don’t catch up to it soon, water will completely fill the cavern, and they’ll both drown. Tiger Lily doesn’t need any instruction; she kicks her legs and swims alongside him. When they reach the side of the boat, Killian pushes her inside, then shoves the row boat through the opening of Skull Rock that has become the narrowest of exits. Killian dives under to follow the boat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He swims with long strokes as far as he can, hoping he has cleared the rocks. When he breaks the surface, gasping for air, he’s relieved to find himself in the open air. A hand reaches down, and Tiger Lily hauls him over and into the boat. He barely has time to catch a breath before her hand connects with his cheek. The sound of her slap echoes across the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “What the bloody hell was that for?” he shouts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Hook, you are a dirty pirate, and I never want to speak to you again.” She yells, crossing her arms over her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did I do? Pan was the one who tied you up in there!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily glares at him, her arms still crossed. “And the only reason he found me was because YOU told him where I was!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the bloody hell would I do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily deflates slightly, her brow furrowed. “In exchange for some of your crew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian arches a brow. “And you believed him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would have been here sooner, but I had to rescue Wendy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily shakes her head, even more confused. “Wendy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A girl Pan had his shadow bring to the island. To . . . entertain his teenage crew.” Killian can barely get the words out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pan hates girls, and he’s never cared . . . unless . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s eyes widen. “Unless Wendy is bait.” He thinks of Mason and Felix telling Pan that he didn’t have the mark. “He’s looking for someone specific. He’s looking for -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little boy,” Tiger Lily finishes for him, “very young.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But why tie you up in Skull Rock?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily’s eyes widen as she takes up the oars. “A distraction. Where is your crew?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shakes his head as he too takes up the oars. “The ship is docked in Pirate’s Cove while I’m gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. No pirates to rescue lost boys from the shadow. Does Wendy have any brothers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian scowls. “I’m guessing the answer to that is yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t they ever sleep?” Tiger Lily mutters from their hiding place behind a large rock. In the clearing, the Lost Boys are hunched around the blazing campfire, dipping spears and arrowheads into the sticky black sap of dreamshade. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian arches a brow at Tiger Lily. “Not much. Not without a mother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily tilts her head in confusion. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fairy crouches lower and tightens her hold on her bow as she draws closer to Pan’s camp on soft feet. Killian follows her, his palm sweating as he grips the hilt of his sword. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re preparing for battle,” Kilian hisses to his companion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian doesn’t reply; he’s too distracted by the rustling in the branches above them. He scowls when Tink drops to the forest floor beside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bloody hell, can you warn me before you drop out of the sky like that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tink,” Tiger Lily admonishes, “there isn’t enough pixie dust left for you to flit around like that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up both of you, and listen to me! I had to fly here, it was an emergency. Wendy is gone!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>? ” Killian snaps. “I left you not an hour ago!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She was dirty and covered in scrapes, so we went to the stream for water. She swore she heard her little brother crying. I turned around for a second, I swear -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Killian mutters, “it’s not a battle they’re preparing -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-it’s a hunt,” Tiger Lily finishes for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three of them split up, knowing that covering more ground is the only hope for Wendy and her brother. His heart pounds in his chest as he makes his way up Dead Man’s Peak, thoughts of his brother swimming up from the dark recesses of his mind. He can’t let Wendy lose hers. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. Barreling around won’t help the children; he needs to focus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Holding his hook aloft and using his sword to push aside the foliage, he continues his search. He wishes he had a lantern, but the risk of drawing the Lost Boys’ attention was too great. Thankfully, the moon is full tonight, and its light bathes the ground more and more as he ascends the peak, the foliage becoming sparser. His eyes scan the meager sized clumps of bushes, hoping for a glimpse of Wendy’s white nightgown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet it’s a pair of green eyes that halts his steps. For a moment, his heart slams against his ribcage. The shade is so similar to Emma’s from long ago. As his gaze lands on those green eyes, they widen and he hears a small gasp. The bush from whence the sound came rustles, and he recognizes Wendy’s voice as she whispers, “hush!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian sheathes his sword and lowers himself to his knees, not wanting to startle the children. “Wendy,” he hisses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hook?” she asks in a wobbly voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s me,” he says gently, easing around the bush. It grows right up against a wall of rock, and beyond it he hears the gurgling of Rainbow Falls. He pushes aside the foliage shielding the children, and the moonlight falls across them both. Wendy has her arms around a little boy of about four. For a moment, he looks up at Killian with wide, light green eyes, but then he shudders and buries his face against his sister’s shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Michael, the pirate is our friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come, children, quickly. The Lost Boys are on the hunt for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They don’t want me,” Michael says hoarsely, peeking out at Hook again. “I’m too little, and I don’t have marks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s brow furrows. “Marks?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Michael says, holding out his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian blinks, thinking back to Felix yanking at Mason’s arm a year ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t have the mark.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yet he has no time at present to contemplate it further as the shouts of the Lost Boys echo from the canyon below. Killian reaches for the children, urging them to hurry, but he stills when he sees a large palm leaf resting near Wendy’s knee. Water shimmers in the center of it, reflecting the moonlight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where did you get this?” he asks Wendy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“From the falls,” she tells him, “we were thirsty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You drank from Rainbow Falls?” he asks, his heart plummeting to his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wendy tilts her head. “Yes, of course. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian puts on a brave smile as he scoops up Michael. “No time for that now. Let’s get you back to the fairy’s cave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to go home,” Michael whimpers as he clutches the edges of Killian’s coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hook will help us,” Wendy says with so much faith, that it makes Killian want to weep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says nothing in reply. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they doomed themselves the minute they drank from Rainbow Falls. They will never be able to leave the island. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Home Under the Ground</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Emma sets off in search of a home, but is she only running? Meanwhile, Killian learns that a voyage may be in order to stop Pan’s evil schemes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I promise, this is the last chapter that Emma and Killian will be separated! I think (hopefully) your wait will have been well worth it ;) At any rate, this chapter has some really important revelations.<br/>*Oh, and don’t try to make this story fit canon. Just don’t. Storybrooke really is just a normal town, and the only Once characters in it are the ones I have named. I haven’t forgotten about Snow and Charming, I promise. You just have to trust me! (I’ve said that a lot, haven’t I?)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Emma: Age 21</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma wedges the last cardboard box into the backseat of her Bug, and Graham grunts as he slams the trunk shut. She’s honestly surprised he managed it. For someone with no roots, she sure was able to pack this car tight. Not that it takes much in a VW Bug, but still. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure about this?” Ruby asks as Emma shuts the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Graham says coming around the front of the car, “Tallahassee is an awfully long way from Maine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shrugs. “There’s farther.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby rolls her eyes. “But you have a life </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Plus, if you stay, you get to be one of my bridesmaids.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby nudges Emma’s elbow, making her smile despite herself. “And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to wear those lovely dresses Bertie at Modern Fashions designed for you. What color was that again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Salmon,” Ruby laughs, “but if you stay, I could convince her to do them in magenta instead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma chuckles too. “Now, that changes everything!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, Emma,” Graham cuts in, “it’s a long drive from here down to Florida. Pull over if you get tired, and make sure you check the oil regularly, and -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would both of you stop?” Granny admonishes, shooing Ruby and Graham away so she can pull Emma in for a hug. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. You’re young, and you need to spread your wings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods against Granny’s shoulder, willing her tears not to fall. When the older woman releases her, Ruby claims a hug. When the brunette releases Emma, she clasps her by both shoulders and gives her a long, intense look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t find what you’re looking for, you’ll come home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma sighs. “I’m sorry, Ruby. Storybrooke’s been wonderful, but home is something I’m still searching for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ruby shakes her head. “Or maybe you’re running.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe. But when you really have a home, and you leave it, you just . . . </span>
  <em>
    <span>miss </span>
  </em>
  <span>it</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m gonna keep running until I feel that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you feel that for us -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’ll be back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two young women embrace again, and then Emma gets behind the wheel of the dilapidated yellow car she had saved for two months to buy in cash. Ruby’s ex, Billy, had done a ton of work on it for the cost of parts only, which had taken an additional two months in tips from the diner. Nevertheless, the Bug is now hers, and she has owned precious little in her life. She turns the key in the ignition, puts the car in gear, and waves goodbye as she pulls out of the lot in front of the inn. She watches Granny, Ruby, and Graham get smaller in her rearview mirror until she drives out of downtown Storybrooke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a stretch of countryside before she reaches the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign. For some reason, she glances in her rearview mirror again as she crosses the town line, but all she sees behind her is a long, lonely road. She sighs as she turns her gaze back out the front windshield.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t so sure the view there is any different.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Killian: Age 21</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian picks his way gingerly through the thick foliage that runs along the ravine in the heart of Neverland. He shifts his grip on the parcels tucked beneath his right arm and swings his hook through the braken. Every time he comes to the island, the dreamshade is more prolific, daylight is shorter, and the trees drip with more lichen and moss. The scent of decay and death fill his nostrils. The fairies are right, the island is dying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He releases a long breath of relief when he reaches the ravine and is away from the danger of the dreamshade. He ducks beneath the moss and vines covering the enchanted entryway, all of it thicker than it was on his previous visit. He taps his hook on the rock wall in the rhythm Tink had instructed, and it dissolves before him, revealing a tunnel lit with fairy magic. Finally he reaches a quaint wooden door covered in fairy runes. He touches them with his hook in the correct order, and then he hears the lock click. A greeting is on his lips, but he holds them back at the sight before him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wendy is in a rocker by the fireplace, singing a lullaby as she darns some of Michael’s socks. The boy himself is curled up in the bottom of the two bunks set into the wall, fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She stepped away from me</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And she moved through the Fair</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And fondly I watched her</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Move here and move there</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And she went her way homeward</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With one star awake</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As the swans in the evening</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Move over the lake</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the final line drifts over him, Wendy glances up from her mending and lets out a cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hook!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leaps up and races across the room, flinging herself into Killian’s arms. He lets out a grunt at the impact, barely managing to keep hold of his parcels. He glances over her shoulder and is shocked to see Michael sleeping through it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you bring us?” she asks, eagerly taking the packages. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything on your list,” he tells her proudly, “and one or two surprises.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Candy for Michael?” Wendy shakes her head when she sees Hook shrug. “You don’t need to spoil him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you don’t need to act like a little mother. How old are you now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thirteen,” she replies with a tilt of her chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian frowns. “You should be giggling with your friends and getting into mischief, not darning socks and worrying over how much candy your brother eats.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or attempting to mother lost boys,” says a voice over Killian’s shoulder, and he turns to see Tink coming through an archway in the back wall with piles of blankets in her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, the linens!” Wendy exclaims, taking the load from Tink far too eagerly. “It’s washing day,” she tells Hook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t change the subject,” he reprimands, “what’s this about mothering lost boys?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shh, Michael’s napping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wendy -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, ok,” she huffs, dropping the bedding onto the small kitchen table, “so I sneak out sometimes into Pan’s camp -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pan’s camp!” Killian exclaims, turning incredulous eyes on Tink, who just shrugs and shakes her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When they’re all asleep,” Wendy clarifies, as if that makes it ok, “and I only go because the little ones cry for their mothers.  I sing them back to sleep, you see, and -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you could get caught by one of the older ones!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no use talking to her, Hook,” Tink sighs, “Tiger Lily and I have already tried.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian narrows his eyes at Wendy, but she avoids his look by ripping into one of the parcels he’s bought. “Lace!” she squeals. “Oh, Hook, you shouldn’t have!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns bright red as she hugs him again. “Well, you said your handkerchiefs were shabby and needed lace, and the king’s navy was carrying this ridiculous gift for the crown princess from the Duke of Glowerhaven. Lord knows that woman doesn’t need any more frippery when her people are starving, so -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just admit Wendy’s got you wrapped around her little finger and stop babbling,” Tink laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t even attempt to deny it. He can’t find a way to get Wendy and her brother home; the least he can do is brighten their days in some small way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hook,” Tink says, lowering her voice so Wendy can’t hear, “we need to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In my experience, I’m never in for a pleasant conversation when a woman says that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink just rolls her eyes and pulls on his arm. Wendy is too busy with her sewing basket and the new lace to notice as the fairy pulls him down the hallway and into her room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why Tink,” he teases with a wink, “if you were getting lonely, you could have just said so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink scowls at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Funny, but some females </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>immune to your charms, pirate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not many,” he can’t help teasing with an arch of his brow. It’s true. He hasn’t lacked for willing and eager company at any port, though none of his conquests have succeeded in filling the aching hole inside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to show you something -” she lifts a hand and rushes to add, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>in my books of fairy lore</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink pulls a cracked and faded tome from her bookcase. It’s so old that a puff of dust billows up as she opens it. Killian chokes as he waves his hook in the air to clear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this about the pixie trees dying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>island </span>
  </em>
  <span>dying you mean,” Tink corrects, “which means Pan is dying, too. He and the island are connected.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We knew all this already,” Hook says, shaking his head, “and the why really doesn’t matter, in my opinion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What we didn’t know was the connection between that and the little ones the shadow kept bringing to Pan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like Mason and Michael.” Killian looks over Tink’s shoulder at the book. He can’t make sense of the fairy runes, but he does recognize a sketch in the middle of the page. “Is that a flower?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A buttercup, specifically,” Tink answers, “and according to this prophecy there will be a special child with this mark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian rubs at his chin. “Felix said Mason didn’t have the mark, and then Michael mentioned something about it as well.” He picks up the fragile book, balancing  it gingerly on his hooked forearm so loose pages won’t fall out. “What else does the book say about this child?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That it will be a boy with the heart of the truest believer. That his lineage will be both royal and common, magical and non-magical.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian lifts his gaze from the page before him to lock it upon Tink. The pale color upon her cheeks makes his heart sink.”What are you not saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink moistens her lips nervously. “The worst part is . . . that the heart of this child can restore life to the dying. Renew magic that has been lost. That’s why Pan is looking for this child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the child dies so that bastard can live?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink nods grimly as Hook slams the book shut. Fury rises in his chest as he thinks of Mason, now nine years old, a fine pirate already, looking more and more like Milah with each passing day. He thinks of Michael, only six years old and sleeping with such easy trust in the other room. He knows from experience how cold-blooded Pan can be, but this?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too long have I let this demon elude me,” Killian growls, slamming his hook into the wooden desk before him. “I’ll gut him like a fish; I’ll end him once and for all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Hook, you and your crew have had how many skirmishes with the lost boys?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s eyes flash. “You doubt me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not, but we have to be realistic. Pan has magic, you don’t. It’s why he always gets the -” Tink breaks off suddenly, her face turning deep red. “That is, I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can bloody well say it,” Killian grumbles, “he always gets the upper </span>
  <em>
    <span>hand</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink winces, then tentatively reaches out to him. “What it comes down to is this - it’s time you and your crew went on the offense. You have to leave Neverland, and I don’t just mean to visit your favorite ports or wreck havoc on King George’s Navy. I mean leave. Use the pegasus sail to search the realms and find -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re leaving?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook and Tink whirl to see Wendy standing in the doorway holding a tea tray in her trembling hands. The sight cuts him deep. For some reason, taking care of people is Wendy’s way of coping. She deserves better. Tears well in her eyes as she gazes up at him. She thinks he’s a bloody hero for some reason</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hook, are you leaving? For good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs as he reaches out gently to take the tray from her hands before she drops it. “Nothing’s been decided yet, lass, but I may need to take a lengthy voyage to find someone. A boy like your brother, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about us?” she asks, her eyes wide now and her breaths coming fast. “You said you’d find a way to get us home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian closes his eyes, silently cursing himself. It was a promise he never should have made. Tink and Tiger Lily have searched every book of magic they own, and he has inquired of sorcerers and enchantresses at every port. They still don’t know of an antidote for the waters of Rainbow Falls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This can be good for you and Michael too,” Tink puts in. “Searching different realms means a myriad of magical possibilities.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But how long?” Wendy whispers. He and Tink can’t answer that question. In the silence, Wendy does something that takes him completely by surprise. She flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “I’ll miss you. Please  don’t be gone too long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian lifts his good hand tentatively and awkwardly pats Wendy on the head. He looks up nervously at Tink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even know where to begin looking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Tink says hesitantly, “all we have to go on is the words of the prophecy. He’ll be very young, like the other boys. He’ll have one royal parent and one who is a commoner. One magical parent and one non-magical. Wait, no, I read this wrong . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian steps away from Wendy to look again at the page Tink is perusing. Not that it makes any more sense to him now than it did moments ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of both a </span>
  <em>
    <span>land </span>
  </em>
  <span>of magic and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>land</span>
  </em>
  <span> of none.” Tink murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like my home,” Wendy says casually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait - what?” Killian asks, his heart suddenly pounding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My home,” she repeats, shrugging one shoulder, “there was no magic there. That’s why Michael and I kept going to the window to see the shadow. John told us it was silly but -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait a minute,” Killian says, shaking his head and taking in a sharp breath, “I’ve been to a land with no magic, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>****************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian stands in front of the old familiar wardrobe for what feels like the millionth time. Not once in the last five years has it led him anywhere. Perhaps it was only waiting for this day . . . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink and Wendy had wanted to come with him to see it, but he feels that he has to do this alone. His fingers twitch at his right side, and he has to take several deep breaths before he reaches for the handle. He knows what this means. If he is to search Emma’s realm for the boy, he’ll have to test fate and see what happens when he lets the light that can take him back home fade. He also is unsure how he will explain this to Emma, not that anything about their friendship has ever made sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes, counts to three, then pulls on the knob just as he opens his eyes again. His breath rushes out when he sees nothing but an empty wardrobe. Swearing under his breath, he climbs inside, pounds at the inside walls, but finds them sturdy and unyielding beneath his fist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian jumps back out in frustration, slamming the door of the wardrobe behind him. He stalks to his desk, shoving things aside to make room for maps and star charts. He’s heard the names of many of the realms: Wonderland, Oz, Arendelle, Camelot, Narnia. He’s even discovered star charts that can get them there with the aid of the pegasus sail. But a land without magic? There’s only one way he’s ever gotten to a land like that, and it is apparently barred from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No matter. Tink said the boy was of a magical land as well. He’ll simply have to start there. He breathes heavily as his gaze sweeps over the stack of maps before him. Ever since he and Liam were lads, he’s been fascinated with maps. They both were. The Brothers Jones, planning adventures across the realms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you were here, Liam . . . “ he trails off, hanging his head as memories wash over him. Then he takes a deep breath and tightens his jaw. “If you were here, you would find this boy. You would be the hero.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He taps his hook in agitation as he begins to plot a course. He’s no hero, but he’ll do this for Liam. For Milah. For Wendy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Meanwhile, in a Land Without Magic . . . </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia Bridges has been a social worker for twenty five long years, and she’s seen a lot of things in her caseload. Yet she’s never seen a case like this. It should have been a slim volume of straight forward paperwork. Infants given up at birth were always immediately adopted. This one was especially ideal - the birth mother wanted a closed adoption. Those were rare these days. A successful, single woman had adopted the boy, taking him home from the hospital days after his birth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she’d brought him back a month later before she’d even signed the final papers. Colic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia rolls her eyes remembering. The woman didn’t deserve to be a mother in her opinion. Not that anyone ever listened to her opinion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet the boy’s file still could have ended there. Colic or no colic. But it didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Olivia pats the boy’s knee now. He is three years old and still has no home, despite his adorable mop of brown hair and large eyes like melted chocolate. The reasons have varied: colic, night terrors, seizures. None of it should have mattered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles down at him and reminds him that someone is adopting him today. He looks silently up at her, and she wonders if he’s already cynical at three. She rises, takes his hand in hers, and leads him into the next room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A young man turns and smiles at them as they enter. An adoption by a single man as young as this one is rare, but in this child’s case, it may be the only option left. Besides, the man has gone through every government hoop necessary. He’s invested a considerable sum of money and passed physicals, psychological profiles, and home studies with flying colors. He’s also recently engaged to his boyfriend of the past year (who’s also passed every test). Honestly, Olivia’s only concern is that this one sticks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John Darling,” Olivia says, “meet your new son.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Hook or Me This Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Emma and Killian are finally reunited. But will it once again be only for a night?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I’m so excited to share this chapter with you! The wardrobe will finally work its magic again! But . . . well . . . we do have three more chapters to go . . .  For those of you who read the original, this contains a pivotal scene from that version, though with some changes. Changes I feel make it even better. I hope ya’ll think so too!<br/>*Much thanks as always to the mods of the csrt event at @captainswanbigbang. Also thanks to @optomisticgirl and @shippingtheswann for their beta skills. I especially needed both your help with the battle scene in this, for which I am immensely grateful!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Emma: Age 23</b>
</p>
<p> <span>Jackie is in her seventies, or at least looks like she’s in her seventies, and her house is at least a hundred years old. But those are the only two similarities either the woman or the house share with Emma’s beloved Martha. Where Martha’s house was old and a little worse for wear, it was still well loved and kept clean and tidy. Jackie’s house is only a few steps above being condemned, and as for cleanliness, well, Emma almost chokes on the stench. But after weeks on the road in her bug, it’s all Emma can afford.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>          Jackie isn’t in much better shape than her house, her face drawn and scowling, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. Where Martha had been soft and gentle, Jackie is all sharp lines and harsh edges. Her voice is rough as sandpaper, her words like vinegar. There definitely is no little box of Bible verses in this woman’s kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          The room Emma is renting is in slightly better shape than the rest of the house; the previous renter had at least known what Pine-Sol was. It’s about as small as her room at Martha’s when she was ten, yet it does have a tiny bathroom attached and the fireplace actually works. In one corner is crammed a miniscule table and chair, and in the other –</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Is a wardrobe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma drops her duffel on the scuffed hardwood as her jaw almost comes unhinged. There’s no mistaking it this time: It’s the same one she had in her room at ten and sixteen. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Seriously? She berates herself, not for the first time, for her decision to come back to Maine, even if Florida had been a massive mistake. After saving up all that money at Granny’s, she foolishly wasted two years in Tallahassee. She still kicks herself for thinking Neal would actually find her. What did she think this was? A rom-com? It isn’t. Her life is no Hallmark movie, no fairy tale. She glances at the wardrobe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Even if a dashing slave/cabin boy had come to her through an enchanted wardrobe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          She sighs and pauses before unzipping her duffel, then decides to just slide the bag under the bed. It isn’t quite as large or ornate as her bed at Martha’s, but it’s still a four-poster with ample room underneath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          She purposely ignores the wardrobe the rest of the evening, refusing to give it even a glance as she cooks up a supper of ramen noodles with her hot plate. She stares at the noodles in her bowl, the desire to look over in the opposite corner stronger than she would care to admit. Why did she even come back to Maine? Oh right, because there are people in a town called Storybrooke who said she could come back if Tallahassee didn’t work out. Too bad she needs to earn more money before she can get the rest of the way there. And in the meantime, this wardrobe is mocking her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          She stays in the shower longer than necessary, despite the layers of scum on the avocado colored subway tiles. She comes out in nothing but a towel, grasping it tight with one hand as she fishes in her duffel with the other. Normally, alone in her room, she’d just walk around naked. But she can’t help remembering those blue eyes she saw watching her as a girl. She chuckles wryly at herself and ceases searching her bag. She stands up straight, pushing her wet hair from her eyes, and drills her gaze into the wardrobe. With a huff she stomps over and flings the door open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          A handful of empty wire hangers swing and clang together from the post inside. That’s it. Empty. Emma laughs at herself as she shuts the door. She lets her towel drop to the floor as she returns to her duffel. With two hands, she finds her pajama pants and tank top quickly and slips into them. She’s just crawled into bed and is reaching over to flip off the bedside lamp when she hears a squeak. She pauses, her hand hovering in midair between the bed and the lamp. She turns her head slowly towards the wardrobe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door suddenly swings open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Emma? I’ve tried this wardrobe a hundred times . . . ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mouth falls open at the sight of the person on the other side. She eases slowly from the bed in shock and steps closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Killian?” she questions softly, wrapping her arms around the post of the four-poster bed. The same blue eyes as always stare back at her, but he has changed so much. Those eyes are now rimmed with dark kohl, and his face has a hardened edge that is brand new. His hair is the same dark shade, but instead of the shoulder length and the boyish lock of hair falling in his eyes, it is now a bit shorter and messy in a dangerous sort of way. Instead of a nightshirt, he wears tight, black leather pants and a long black leather coat over a black shirt and red vest. The buttons of his shirt are undone almost to his navel, revealing thick, dark hair on a hardened, muscular chest. The naïve, hopeful boy she had known has obviously grown into a world-weary man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          And then there’s the hook. A large, shiny steel hook where his left hand used to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          The harshness of his face softens as he takes in the sight of her, and when he speaks, the roguish smile he gives her and the cocky arch of his brow seem slightly forced. Like a long-practiced act he’s performing for the first time in her presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Actually, love, people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker: Hook.” His face falls even as he brandishes the intimidating appendage. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again, lass. It’s been so long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma shrugs, the corner of her mouth hitching up. “Only seven years. Give or take.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Yet so much has happened since then,” he tells her in a voice heavy with almost unbearable sadness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For me too,” she admits in barely more than a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They search one another’s eyes for a silent heartbeat. “I hate to hear that, love,” he finally says, “though I hope the terrors here are less frightening than those in Neverland.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma’s mind reels. He’s been in Neverland. He’s dressed like a pirate. He has a hook. When she speaks, it’s almost hesitant. “You mean . . . you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>Captain </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hook?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          His eyes light up and a look of pride fills his face. His voice is full of bravado when he speaks. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma suppresses a laugh. “Well, there’s a book. And movie. Several movies, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He cocks his head for a moment as he searches her face, a look of slight confusion upon his own. Then some sort of realization seems to wash over him, and he deflates his posturing. “The portrayal was far from flattering, I see. I – I’ll leave you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Wait!” Emma cries out even as he turns to go. Without thinking, she reaches out and grabs his hook to stop him. When he turns, he looks in surprise at where her fingers curve around the steel. So he’s . . . Captain Hook. Is that so much harder to believe than having a friend that walks through an enchanted wardrobe? She smiles up at him. “Stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He seems almost transfixed as she pulls him out of the wardrobe and towards the bed. She sits and gently tugs him down with her, her hand still clutching his hook. It doesn’t scare her, didn’t for one second. And it’s hard to explain, but holding it seems . . . right. Comforting, even. She sets it in her lap and squeezes it as she gazes into his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Tell me what’s happened since I saw you last,” she encourages, as she would to a long lost friend. Because that’s what he is. The only one she has or has ever had, come to think of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He clears his throat, still staring at his hook in her lap. “I’m afraid there’s an awful lot to tell.” The slightly embarrassed chuckle and ear scratch that he gives her reveals the boy still inside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma shifts closer, “Just the highlights, then. It’s not like I have anything important to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          So he begins to talk. The accented voice she has always loved rolls over her like a warm embrace, but the story breaks her heart. He tells her about losing his brother Liam and why he became a pirate. His voice breaks as he describes the elder Jones dying in his arms, and Emma tugs his arm up and over her shoulder. A tear tracks down his cheek as he tells her about Milah, about watching Pan crush her heart and being helpless to stop it. He turns his face away as he speaks of the choices he has made, many of them dark, in his pursuit of revenge against Pan. Emma leans closer and rests her head on his shoulder to let him know it doesn’t change anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “I’ve been talking on and on about nothing but myself,” he tells her, his lips brushing against the crown of her head. “That’s bad form, love. What about your life? Less tragic than mine, I hope.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma lifts her head to look into his eyes, so intensely blue as they study her. “I’ve had my own share of tragedy.” She lets out a shaky breath and then tells him about Neal and jail, and then . . . she speaks for the first time about the baby she gave away. Confesses for the first time out loud about how giving him up tore her heart in two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Killian holds her tighter as the tears break free. She turns in his embrace, fisting her hands in his shirt and sobbing into his shoulder. When her tears are spent, there is a dark, wet spot on his shirt. She laughs sardonically as she wipes at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Look what I’ve done to your shirt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Tis nothing, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma suddenly realizes that both her hands are splayed against his chest, and she can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. She lifts her head and sees his face so close to hers. Her eyes flicker from his bright eyes to his lips, and her thoughts tumble backwards in time to their first kiss when his lips were so soft and welcoming, and how the feel of them on hers made her heart soar. They both lean towards each other, and then their lips are brushing. They sort of melt against one another as they deepen the kiss, and it’s simultaneously just like when they were sixteen and vastly different. The softness, the tenderness, and the heart swelling rush are all still there. But there’s fire and passion wrought of pain and loss that sparks and sets them both on fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          What comes next happens in a sort of haze, as if Killian is a drug she can’t resist. Hands and lips feverishly exploring, and clothes peeled back and cast aside with a mixture of frenzy and reverence. When Emma removes his brace, he stiffens and closes his eyes in shame. She lifts his left arm and runs her fingers across the scars there, then kisses it tenderly. He tells her around an obvious lump in his throat that no one has seen or touched it since Milah. She presses it to her breast and pulls him close for a hungry kiss. She wants him to know he isn’t disabled or broken, not to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Then they’re falling as they come together, Killian practically worshipping every inch of her as if she’s an angel he doesn’t quite deserve. And Emma is almost overwhelmed with the intensity of it, and she wonders why she ever thought she loved Neal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Because it was never like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          They are still breathing heavily, yet sated and slightly drowsy in each other’s arms when the light pours out of the open door of the wardrobe. Emma cups Killian’s face and runs her thumb along the scar on his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>         “Emma.” His voice is almost a groan. “For years, I told myself that if I ever found my way back here, I would stay. With you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s searching her face, and the look in his eyes is begging her to understand. “But you can’t, can you?” she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian brushes her lips against hers, feather light. “I just received an urgent message from some friends. We were making haste to Neverland when I saw a light in the wardrobe. I have to help them if I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma grasps his shoulders tight even as she nods in understanding. He presses his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, and they breathe one another in for just one more heartbeat. Then he slips from the bed and begins to gather his clothes. As he steps into his leather pants, the light of the moon sends a shaft of light across his back, illuminating the criss-cross pattern of scars she had traced earlier with her fingers. She remembers the trembling slave boy of ten, and the hesitantly hopeful cabin boy of sixteen, and she wonders if the scars were there even then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Killian finishes dressing with a click of his hook into his brace. The sound of it echoes in the quiet room, and she sees his jaw tense with shame. Giving him her body clearly wasn’t enough to wash that away, and it breaks her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Emma,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “I’m not the boy you once knew. I know I wasn’t worthy to share your bed tonight, but know one thing.” He lifts his gaze finally to hers, and the moonlight brightens them. They are swimming with more emotion than anyone has ever bestowed upon her. “I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>loved you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>has never changed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          She sits up, clutching the sheets to her bare chest as she watches him walk to the wardrobe. She wants to tell him she loves him too, but she can’t get the words past her throat. He steps into the wardrobe, and a slight panic seizes her that she can’t speak. He turns to look at her, giving her a tender smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Can I come back tomorrow night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Her heart soars at his question, tears filling her eyes. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He gives a simple nod, pulls the wardrobe closed, and the light is gone. He is gone. A strangled sound comes from Emma’s throat as she curls in on herself. Every time she and Killian have spent a night together, her world comes crashing down. First Martha’s stroke, then being betrayed by what she thought was her family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Whatever tomorrow brings, she doubts it will be Killian.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>**************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Killian comes back through the wardrobe, the early light of dawn is just beginning to spill through the windows of his cabin. He sinks to his bunk, his heart still struggling to recover from the night he had shared with Emma. He can still see that otherworldly light seeping through the cracks of the wardrobe door, and he’s tempted to go back through and simply stay with Emma. He clenches his jaw as he reaches over with his hook and pierces the small slip of paper that had arrived via bird from Tink and Tiger Lily less than twenty four hours ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Pan has him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three simple words that he can’t ignore. So he lets the light fade away, rises to his feet, and strides above deck, crushing the missive in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is our position, Starkey?” he cries to his first mate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll be making landfall in less than half an hour, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian nods as he joins the other young man at the captain’s wheel. Starkey’s gaze keeps cutting his way, but Killian is in no mood to talk. His emotions are a tumult of golden hair, light green eyes, and heated skin mixed in with the fear of reaching the island too late. Somehow, for reasons he can’t fathom, his night with Emma feels intertwined with the boy he has to save. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. He tells himself this overwhelming urge comes from his own memories of a shattered childhood, but somehow he knows it is deeper than that. His nerve endings feel exposed, brushing up against a mystery just out of reach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they anchor the ship in the cove near Mermaid’s Lagoon, Hawkins tells him in hushed tones that the island is much too quiet. It has nothing to do with the empty lagoon or the stillness of the dark waters nearest to the shore. The mermaids abandoned this place long ago, when magic first began to die. Tink speaks dreamily of their songs, but it’s a pleasure that has never reached his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, this quiet is filled with a heavier foreboding. Hook normally visits the home beneath the ground on his own, not wanting to expose Wendy to his uncouth crew, but this time he takes those he trusts most along with him: Starkey, Hawkins, and Slightly. Mason begs to come along, but there’s too much unknown to risk it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They find the place just as quiet as the rest of the island. Wendy’s sewing basket is sitting abandoned by the hearth, the fireplace cold. Hook frowns when he sees a tiny cup sitting upon the kitchen table, filled to the brim with a brown liquid. He shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wendy always makes sure Michael takes his medicine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s awful stuff, and the boy pitches a fit every time, but the concoction brewed by Tiger Lily is a supposed inoculation for dreamshade. Killian’s skeptical of the home remedy - it’s never made a bit of difference for his crew - but it makes Wendy feel better to make her brother take it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet here it sits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Starkey pulls a dagger from his belt. “Something strange is afoot, Cap’n.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Their brother John came for them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spin at the sound, weapons aloft, but it is only Tiger Lily. Killian deflates and re-sheaths his sword.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brother?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Half brother,” Tiger Lily sighs, depositing a quiver of arrows upon the table and rolling her shoulders. “He’s already a man. A man who made a deal with Pan, apparently. You weren’t the only one searching for the boy, Hook.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t mean -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Pan has him. I’ve tracked them to Skull Rock. Tink is there keeping watch, but I’m not sure what we can do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Wendy and Michael -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gone. I don’t know how, but Pan gave John an antidote for the water of Rainbow Falls as well as passage to another realm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Home,” Killian whispers, “a land without magic, Wendy said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily nods. “John was a desperate man, Killian. He didn’t want to turn the child over; had grown attached to him even, but Wendy is 15 now, and . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She trails off, her shoulders hunched. She isn’t like Tink with chatter spilling out of her. Tiger Lily is clearly shaken. Killian sinks onto one of the kitchen chairs and rubs his hand over his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wanted to save his sister and brother, I get that,” Killian fumes “but turning over a tiny lad that way . . . “ He slams his fist into the table in frustration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We must attack, Captain,” Hawkins says grimly, “before Pan kills the boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian looks at the three determined men before him. He knows they’re right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Emma</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please understand if I don’t make it back to you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>**************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pan has to do the ritual here,” Tiger Lily whispers from their hiding place in Skull Rock. “This is the heart of Neverland. All the island’s magic originates here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian peers over the rock with Tiger Lily at his side. The child stands trembling with Pan beside him. An enormous hourglass looms over them both, the sand within like gold dust. Whatever it is measuring, time is almost up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen that hourglass before,” Killian says to Tiger Lily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pan’s had a protection spell around it until recently. It measures Pan’s boyhood. He will never grow up, but he isn’t immortal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He isn’t immortal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A slow smile fills Killian’s face. “Pan is the reason magic is dying in Neverland.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily’s gaze meets his, her brown eyes widening brightly. “Of course! Peter Pan’s magic is unnatural; it consumes. Get rid of Pan -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Restore Neverland to glory,” Killian finishes for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian looks back at the child once again, yet another source of magic for Peter Pan to consume for his own “play.”  Even from this place he can hear the boy’s weeping. The Lost Boys surround him and their leader, weapons forming a tight circle that will be difficult to penetrate. Nevertheless, Killian takes note of one important detail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They are in an offensive position to keep the boy in,” he whispers. “Not defensive to keep attackers out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We still need a plan,” the fairy whispers back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirks at Tiger Lily. “What do you think I have a crew for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ll risk that child for a full on assault?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he gives her a wink, ‘trust me for once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slips away, further into the cave, and he bites back a chuckle at the way Tiger Lily is grumbling. His crew has used these caves often to store bits of treasure for a rainy day, so he’s familiar with its labyrinth of tunnels. He hurries along one with light, quiet steps. It leads him to a precipice just over where Pan is giving a rousing speech to his Lost Boys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian is surprised that the child isn’t restrained in any way, but he’s so small, and his eyes so large with fright, that it’s likely unnecessary. Killian eases his way to the very edge of the precipice, lying flat on his stomach so he’s hidden from sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan is saying something about saving Neverland’s magic, grasping the trembling boy by the arm. Killian thinks back to Mason and then Michael and the lack of a mark that saved them from this cruel rite. He can’t see it from here, but he assumes that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>child does bear the mark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian knows that time is short. He scans the large main cavern of Skull Rock, his eyes finding the members of his crew. All are in position, so he takes a deep breath before calling out:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Flee! Flee!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He adjusts the timbre of his voice, deepening it ominously. The Lost Boys freeze and Pan narrows his eyes as he drops the little boy’s arm. Now that he has their attention, he continues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You heard me. Flee, I tell you! The spirit of Skull Rock has spoken!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To his right, still crouched behind the rock where he left her, Tiger Lily is glaring at him. She makes gestures with her hands that clearly say </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the hell are you doing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He tosses her a wink which says </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, it’s me! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Which she ought to be used to by now, really. Below them, his words have had the desired effect on the Lost Boys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a ghost!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A ghost who wants revenge!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This place is haunted!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quiet, you idiots!” Peter shouts. “Someone’s here alright, but it’s not a ghost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am the ghost of vengeance,” Killian cries out again in a deepened voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s enjoying this far too much, truth be told. Peter’s face can’t seem to settle on anger or fear, and Killian’s lips curl into a grin. The imp pulls out his dagger as he inches closer to the stone walls of the cave, and the Lost Boys gather at his back. The pixie dust is too scarce now for the demon boy to take flight, a fact that Killian relishes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the shadows, Killian spies Hawkins taking advantage of Pan’s distraction. He grabs the little boy, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle any cries. Mason is at his back, and the two teenagers hurry the child to a waiting rowboat, Tink at the oars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the youngest members of his crew have succeeded in rescuing the lad, Killian slinks back down the tunnel to join the rest of the pirates. Tiger Lily scowls at him as she follows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you were never going to clue me into your plan?” she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What would be the fun in that?” he quips back under his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter calls out into the dark recesses of Skull Rock, “Ghost, demon, or man, whoever you are, make yourself known!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook’s lips curl up into a satisfying smirk. The noose has been tightened; his crew has The Lost Boy’s surrounded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boo!” he shouts, arching one brow mockingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look on Pan’s face when he turns and sees a crew of pirate’s behind him, armed to the teeth, is one that Killian Jones will never forget. His crew falls upon the Lost Boys, but Hook keeps his eyes locked on Peter Pan. Hook isn’t sure if it’s cowardice or desperation, but Pan runs away from the battle towards the hourglass. Then a look of confusion washes over Peter’s face, and Killian grins knowing exactly what his enemy has just realized. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking for something?” he shouts over the din, swinging his hook to dispatch the Lost Boys who are in his way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is the boy?” Pan shrieks in a blind rage. He lunges at Hook, but his form</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>is sluggish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gone,” Killian snarls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s you or me this time, Hook!” Pan bellows as he launches himself at Killian. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook’s cutlass flies from his hand; by all accounts the boy has taken him completely by surprise. Never has Peter Pan fought more like a demon than he does now, scratching and biting and kicking. Killian rolls with him, slashing occasionally with his hook enough to draw blood. Peter’s rage is an almost palpable thing, and though Hook could succumb to his own in equal measure, he holds himself back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he laughs. The sound sends Pan over the edge and he begins to choke the pirate. Still, the man grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s so funny?” Pan demands, fury making those two red spots appear in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is,” another voice answers, and Pan loosens his grip on his enemy’s throat to follow the source of it. Tiger Lily stands before the hourglass, Killian’s cutlass in her hands. She swings the weapon at the glass with all of her strength. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nooo!!” Pan screeches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hour glass shatters, the remaining sand pouring out upon the ground. Peter Pan curls in on himself, screaming in agony. Hook feels not an ounce of compassion, however, and he looms over his enemy with a snarl upon his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t really think I would drop my weapon so easily, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pan doesn’t answer. He throws his head back, clawing at his skin as he continues to scream. The battle between the pirates and the Lost Boys has ceased, and everyone looks on in horror as the boy who never grows up shrivels and wrinkles before their eyes, his bones weakening and contorting. With one final wail, his face seems to melt, then his entire body turns to dust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, there is an eerie silence. Former enemies glance at one another, unsure what to do next. Then a violent wind rushes through skull rock, picking up the ashes that were once Peter Pan. A dark shadow flies in behind it, and the ashes whirl it, faster and faster and faster. The vortex sends everyone to their knees, shielding their eyes from the dust and wind. Then there’s a bright pulse of light that sends them all sprawling on their backs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s head collides with the rocky floor and pain shoots across his forehead, his focus blurring at the edges. He thinks he sees a flurry of purple and green - wings? He blinks, but then his vision begins to dim as someone calls his name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Emma, I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s the last thought he has before he succumbs to the darkness. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ummm . . . sorry? 🙈</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Come Away, Come Away!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Emma waits for the other shoe to drop. Will Killian return to her?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* So, this is one of the chapters that earned this fic its M rating. Those who read the original probably remember what’s coming, but just to warn the rest of you: this chapter contains attempted rape and graphic violence.</p>
<p>* Now that I have those trigger warnings out of the way, this is also the chapter that finally gets around to the prompt that originally inspired this whole idea. The prompt was: “A child is kidnapped, and the monster under the bed isn’t happy about it.” Let’s just say, Killian is the monster and something happens that makes him very, very angry. You won’t like Captain Hook when he’s angry ;) Well, I do, honestly, but there are characters in this chapter who won’t.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Emma: Age 23</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma is on pins and needles all day long, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s such a bundle of nerves at her new waitressing job, that she spills coffee and breaks two dishes. She berates herself, thinking she’s going to end up her own worst enemy and get herself fired. But her boss is surprisingly patient, chalking it up to first day jitters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          It’s jitters, all right. Fear of the universe screwing her over again, for one. And then the more pleasant kind of jitters, the kind that has red creeping up her neck and butterflies doing a chorus line in the pit of her stomach. The memories of last night with Killian are making it incredibly hard to concentrate on the here and now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Surprisingly, Emma makes it to the end of the day without any major catastrophes. Her bug starts just fine, and nothing looks amiss when she gets to Jackie’s. She unlocks the back door entrance to her rented room with her eyes closed. She isn’t sure what she expects. A fire? A flood? Neal? She chuckles ironically at that last thought. She spent two years looking, waiting, pining. Now Neal is the last person on earth she wants to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          But when she opens her eyes, nothing is amiss. Yet her feeling of dread doesn’t abate as the night wears on. The mac n cheese she makes for supper sticks to her throat, imaginary sounds assault her in the shower, and her hands shake as she slips into her pajamas. (Though she doesn’t worry about dropping the towel – Killian is welcome to look now.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          She climbs into bed wide awake. If she was the type, she would read a book to pass the time. She wishes there was a TV. Instead, she lies there staring at the cracks in the ceiling. As time ticks on, she sits up and hugs her knees like she’s ten again and stares at the wardrobe. Could it be possible? Have she and Killian finally defied fate?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          As if fate has a sick sense of humor, Emma hears at that very moment loud shouts from the main part of the house. Then crashes, things breaking, and a scream. Emma curses herself for her delayed reflexes; she’s entirely too off her game tonight. She leaps from the bed and grabs a poker resting against the fireplace and hoists it like a club just as two burly, tattooed men burst through her bedroom door. Emma swings the poker at them as they barrel towards her, but she may as well be swinging a toothpick at a grizzly bear. They sling her across the room, then lift her up and slam her against the wardrobe. The first of the two men, with a shaved head and biceps the size of boulders, squeezes her throat with both hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Where are the drugs?” he demands, shaking her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “I don’t know!” she gasps, clawing at the hands around her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second man begins to tear her room apart, opening drawers and flinging out their contents. He pulls her duffel out from under the bed and dumps it all out on the floor. Emma thinks of Killian and begins to kick her feet against the wardrobe door. It kicks her assailant, too, which is convenient, and one particularly hard kick lands right where it hurts most. He yells and drops her, and Emma scrambles across the floor on her hands and knees as she gasps in sweet air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s just gotten to her bedroom door and grasped the knob when the second man grabs her by her hair and slings her across the room. She hits the side of her bed and slides to the floor. The man lifts her up, pinning her arms against her side, and shoves her onto the bed. He gets on top of her, his knees pinning her legs to the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s have fun with her,” he snarls to his companion, “then I bet she’ll tell us where Jackie hid the stash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma thrashes, but he has her pinned. She looks longingly towards the door, which has swung open. Her heart plummets when she sees Jackie lying there in a pool of blood, her throat slashed. The bald man chuckles at his friend’s suggestion and comes over the other side of the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds fun,” he sneers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma panics and claws at the men as they pin her arms above her head. “Killian!” she screams, turning her head towards the wardrobe. “Killian!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” the men snap, one of them slapping her across the face with the back of his hand. Emma turns and tries to bite him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s feisty,” the one on top of her says, his breath rancid, “this will be fun.” He pulls out a knife and holds it to Emma’s throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as the other man reaches down and rips at her pajama shirt, a blur of black leather comes crashing through the wardrobe with a feral yell. Killian yanks the man with the knife off Emma and slashes him across the throat with his hook before he can even lift his knife. Emma slides from the bed and to the floor, pulling her ripped shirt closed. The bald man flies over the bed towards Killian, and Killian spins out of the way. The man lands with a loud grunt, and by the time he scrambles to his feet, Killian has pulled a sword from a scabbard at his side. Before the man even realizes what is happening, the sword is plunged deep in his gut. Killian yanks the sword free, and the man crumples, dead in a pool of his own blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian spins towards her, his long leather coat swirling about his legs, his eyes a steely blue as he gazes at her with a tortured expression. She’s always been one to scoff at the whole damsel in distress trope, but at this moment, she has never seen anything more beautiful than this man. She swears he seems to glow like some avenging angel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face falls as he glances first at his bloodied hook and then at his bloodied sword. “You’re afraid of me,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shakes her head, unable to speak as tears tumble down her cheeks. She knows how she must look, curled in around herself and shivering on the floor. “H-he ripped my shirt,” she says, hating how small and vulnerable her voice sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s sword clatters to the floor, and he quickly wipes his hook on the bed sheets as he falls to his knees beside her. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He then shrugs out of his duster and drapes the heavy leather over her shoulders. Emma clutches the coat closed and falls against his chest. He holds her as she weeps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I get here in time?” he chokes out, and she can hear that he’s crying, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods against his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hold tightens around her, and when his words come again, they are tight with righteous indignation, “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It isn’t your fault,” she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fall silent as he holds her, running his hand through her hair. Eventually, his hand moves to cup her face and he gently tips her head back to look at him. “Emma, last night changed everything for me. For the first time since I was a lad, light filled my heart.” His thumb wipes at the tracks of her tears, and he smiles hesitantly at her. “Come with me, Emma.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks long into those pools of cerulean and braces herself for him to say he’ll take care of her. It’s what men always say in these situations, at least in the movies, and while part of her longs for that, another part of her rebels against it. She doesn’t want to owe him or need him to the point she loses herself, like with Neal. Killian traces her jaw, then thumbs her chin, and she waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He smiles at her and says, “We’d make quite the team, I’m sure of it. And I have a feeling there’s a little pirate in you, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma’s eyes widen in complete surprise. That wasn’t what she thought he would say at all. Even now, trembling in a ripped shirt, he’s still looking at her the way he did when she told him about kneeing Robby Eddleston in the nads. Like he believes that she can do anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma glances around the tiny room with cracks on the ceiling and yellowed paper on the walls. At the miniature table with only room for one lonely chair. What’s keeping her here anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Then her eyes take in the gruesome scene of three dead bodies. She’s the only survivor of this little bloodbath, which evidently has something to do with drugs. The cops won’t believe she’s innocent, not with her past criminal record. No one will vouch for her, the court assigned attorney won’t see a need to fight for her defense. Case closed, neat and tidy. She’ll go back to jail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma smiles up at her pirate in shining armor. “Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          His grin practically splits his face at her answer, and he presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. He sheathes his sword, then before she knows what’s happening, he’s scooped her up in his strong arms. Emma rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Killian, I’m perfectly capable of walking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He smiles down at her with that crooked grin he’s always had, even at ten. “Never said you weren’t, love, but that’s entirely beside the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          The wardrobe begins to emit that familiar glow as he turns towards it. Killian toes it open with his boot, then steps through with Emma in his arms. Behind her is death and decay, but before her is a stately Captain’s quarters with a bank of bright windows. Killian puts her down and she turns in a slow circle, still clutching his duster about her frame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “It's so . . . neat and tidy. I was expecting it to look more like the Black Pearl in the movies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Killian scoffs, “That git Jack Sparrow? I take far more pride in my ship than he does. And why does he get a movie, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          Emma laughs as she turns to him. “You don’t even know what a movie is. Or have you seen one since I saw you last?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He scratches behind that ear again. “Um, no. But I like the idea of being famous even in your realm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He grins at her cockily, rocking back on his heels. She turns and sees the wardrobe behind her. Emma reaches out a shaking hand in wonder. “Unbelievable. It’s just like the one in my world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “Aye,” Killian remarks, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. She turns in his embrace, wrapping her own arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “I’m so tired, Killian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          “I’ll leave you then,” he tells her, “there’s a trunk in the corner of Milah’s old things. There should be a nightgown. I’m not sure if it’s your size, but we can stop in the next port and buy you some things of your own. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He kisses the top of her head and turns to go, but she grabs his hook to stop him. “Don’t go. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He steps closer, eyeing her in return. “After what happened, I wasn’t sure . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          His words make her melt inside. How could he ever have been a villain? She takes his hand and threads their fingers. “I trust you,” she tells him, “and I just want you to hold me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>          He does as she asks, and his embrace combined with the swaying of the sea, lulls her into the deepest sleep Emma has ever had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Emma and Killian: 23</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the sun shines through the small windows of his quarters the next morning, Killian feels content and well rested in a way he hasn’t in years. He knows that a large reason for that is the woman in his arms. He looks down at Emma, her back to his front. Her blonde hair is a riotous mess, tickling his nose and chin. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her cheeks pink. He remembers how she trembled the night before, how wide her eyes had been, how small she had looked curled in on herself as she attempted to cover her body. He wishes he didn’t know what that trauma was like, wishes seeing her didn’t bring back memories of recoiling from Liam’s touch after . . . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian presses his eyes shut, unwilling to go back to that place, even all these years later. Instead he presses a gentle kiss to Emma’s head and lightly runs his finger down her forearm. Sex is the last thing on his mind right now; he’s far too concerned with making sure she feels safe. He knows it may take her awhile to feel comfortable with more than platonic embraces, and some days, she may not want even that. He is determined to be whatever she needs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s here with him; that’s all that matters now. Finally, after so many years, they can really be together. There’s no rush for them to figure things out, and he’ll wait as long as it takes. He lifts her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles before turning her palm up and pressing a chaste kiss there. His thumb runs over the inside of her wrist, and he stills. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking, Killian leans closer to look at the design upon her inner wrist, and his breath catches in his throat. He’s seen that mark before . . . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He has it, the mark that I found in my research,” Tink whispers to Killian.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The boy finishes the cup of water the fairies had given him, his brown eyes still wide and fearful as he runs the back of his hand across his mouth. When he does, Killian sees it - the mark. It looks more like a tattoo than a birthmark and is shaped like a small flower. The child sets his cup down, and Killian notices his hands are still trembling. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s okay,” Tiger Lily tries to assure him, “no one will hurt you anymore.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where’s John?” the boy asks. It’s the first words he’s spoken since Hawkins rescued him from Pan. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Killian exchanges nervous glances with the fairies. Tink’s eyes are struggling against tears as she kneels beside the boy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He . . . had to go away. He didn’t want to, but . . . he . . . “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Killian tosses aside the poultice Tiger Lily had put on his head wound and paces with nervous energy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you want that wound to get well or do you want to drop where you stand?” Tiger Lily admonishes him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh please,” Tink grumbles, pulling her wand from the pouch at her side. She snaps her wrist towards Killian’s head, and his wound is bathed in pixie dust. He touches it tentatively, and grins when he feels no pain. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tink!” Tiger Lily scolds. “Magic isn’t to be used to -”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ladies,” Killian hisses, gesturing to the corner where the boy is now cowering. “It may be best to limit the magic until he’s adjusted, savvy?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Killian spies Michael’s old teddy bear in a basket near the rocking chair. He remembers Wendy sitting there darning socks, and his breath catches. Pushing aside the memory, he picks up the teddy bear and gets down on his knees before the lad. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“We only want to help you, my boy,” he tells the child, offering him the toy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The boy inches forward, eyeing Killian warily. He snatches the teddy bear and</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>holds it close, burying his face against the bear’s furry head.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let’s start with introductions, shall we? My name is Killian. What’s yours?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Henry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>In the present, Emma begins to stir in Killian’s arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she murmurs as she turns her face towards him, eyes blinking with the remnants of sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning, love,” he whispers back, his thumb still tracing over the pattern on her wrist as he attempts to pull his thoughts together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma turns in his embrace and gives him a sleepy smile. “Thanks for . . . well, everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish it had never happened,” he tells her huskily as he twirls a piece of her hair around his finger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she says, pressing her palm against his cheek, “are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swallows, unsure if this is the best time to bring up her birthmark. “Just worried about you, ‘tis all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma frowns. “You’re lying.” She sits up and leans back against the headboard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian takes in every line of her face, amazed at the intelligence and strength that he sees. There will be no subterfuge where Emma is concerned, that much is clear. He lets out a long sigh and takes her hand, gently turning it to reveal the mark on her wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have you had this, love?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chuckles lightly. “It’s not a tattoo, if you can believe it. I’ve always had it. Martha - you remember her, right? - well, she said it looks like a buttercup.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every nerve in his body begins to tingle. It scarcely seems possible. All this time . . . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma,” he says carefully, taking her face in his hand, “the son you gave up . . . “ He hesitates, searches her widening eyes, licks his lips nervously, “did he have this same birthmark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she breathes, “how . . . how did you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He presses his forehead to hers, hoping to bolster her. “Darling, would you like to meet him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your son. I know where he is.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. No Lovelier Sight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Killian and Emma make their way to Neverland in order to reunite Henry with his mother.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Here’s another M rated chapter, and this time for a more enjoyable reason :) In addition to sexy times, there are a lot of revelations in this chapter. I can’t believe we are almost to the end! You all have been so supportive of this story, especially those of you who were fans of the original. Thank you for trusting me and sticking with this new version!<br/>*Thank you once again to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang for hosting the Captain Swan Rewrite a Thon. Also massive thanks to my betas @shippingtheswann and @optimisticgirl. I also owe a lot to all of my fellow writers in the discord chats for your conversations about creating my own version of Neverland and the other realms.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Killian stands behind the wheel, the biting air here above the clouds cutting across his cheeks. Above him, the pegasus sail snaps in the breeze as they make their way to Neverland. Below him, Emma stands looking out at the blue sky and wispy clouds, her hair flying around her like an enchantress. Milah’s old skirts billow around her as well, the bottom hem only hitting the top of her boots. After all, their former owner was but seventeen when she died, and Emma is a woman of twenty-three.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had sat upon the edge of his cot earlier after retrieving Milah’s things from her old trunk, Emma next to him, and told her more about the girl they had once belonged to as well as what she had meant to him. He doesn’t plan on hiding anything from Emma, especially not when she walked away from the only realm that has ever been her home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet Emma had barely reacted to his story, simply staring straight ahead, her occasional nods the only sign that she was listening at all. She hasn’t spoken much at all since he told her about Henry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Starkey,” Killian calls, “can you take over?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course sir,” his first mate answers, handing the sextant over to Curly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the ship in capable hands, Killian moves to the lower deck and slowly approaches Emma. She turns to him, managing a trembling smile as she pushes her hair out of her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The air is thin and cold at this altitude,” Killian says, “are you sure you don’t want my coat?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “I don’t feel it,” she tells him softly, “I don’t feel anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure what comfort she needs from him, but he opens his arms for her. Emma comes willingly, pressing her face to his collarbone and grasping him tightly about the waist. She shudders, and he wraps his arms around her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve had a lot to process in a very short amount of time,” he tells her soothingly as he rubs her back gently. “First your attack, and then the news about your son . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just don’t understand,” Emma mumbles against his chest. “He was a newborn baby. A woman was adopting him. A woman with a nice home in a nice little town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, love,” Killian sighs, wishing he could help her more. “Tink said that giving him up wasn’t easy for John Darling. He had him for two years before he brought him to Neverland. I think he got a bit attached.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he didn’t love him,” Emma says bitterly, stepping out of Killian’s embrace and swiping angrily at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “Not enough, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian can only nod, for he fully agrees. There’s really nothing more he can say. Emma reaches for his hand, and he takes it, lacing their fingers together. She pulls him near as she turns back to look at the clouds as they roll by. She pulls his arms around her waist and leans her back against his chest. Her hair smells like vanilla and cinnamon. Her hand slides down his left arm to grasp his hook, and he can hardly breathe past the lump in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s five years old now, Killian. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to grow up like me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s one difference between your childhood and his, though. His mother is on her way to rescue him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma turns in his embrace, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if he hates me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian catches the tear with the pad of his thumb, then caresses the dimple in her chin. “I don’t see how anyone can hate you, my love. And children are infinitely forgiving. Think back to when you were five, Emma.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him a tremulous smile even as her eyes flood with more tears. He lets his forehead drop to hers, though he won’t initiate a kiss. That will be on her timetable, not his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My love</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she whispers, “I like the sound of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns her head into his shoulder and wraps her arms around his neck as he holds her tighter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What I want is my son. To love him and have him love me back. Is that selfish?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian buries his fingers in her hair. “Not at all. I believe that’s called a mother’s heart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****************************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s beautiful,” Emma breathes as soon as the Jolly Roger settles upon the waves after her magical flight. Killian comes to stand at Emma’s side, taking in the sight of Neverland on the horizon with fresh eyes. Dead Man’s Peak is no longer a hulk of jagged rock, but a verdant mountain. Skull Rock has mostly crumbled into the sea, leaving behind a shimmering coral reef. The ribbon of Rainbow Falls can even be seen cascading down into the valley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t always,” Killian sighs, “but you’re right, it’s gorgeous now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma grins as she leans farther over the railing of the ship, and Killian’s heart is warmed to see it upon her face. She awoke this morning in a cold sweat, thrashing against an unseen foe. When she finally calmed in the circle of his arms, she explained the nightmare. She was back in that crumbling house, being attacked by those men, only her lad was there too. She was reliving her trauma, that Killian knew all too well, but he also guessed that her fears about meeting her son were also wrapped up in her nightmares. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mermaids!” she exclaims, pointing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian leans over with her, and sure enough, a school of mermaids are leaping through the water alongside the ship. Frankly, he feels they’re showing off with their over-the-top acrobatics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re so colorful,” Emma observes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” Killian says, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulder, “they’re happy to have their lagoon back. Soon the island will be teeming with the mystical creatures that used to live here so long ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shakes her head. “I still can’t believe Peter Pan was evil in real life.” Then she frowns. “And I’m a little pissed that I don’t get to kill him myself for what he did to my son.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian holds back a chuckle, for he knows her anger is real. It makes his blood boil as well. Yet he loves this bold and brilliant woman, and admires her avenging spirit probably more than he should.  He brushes a kiss to her temple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would bring him back if I could, just so I could see you unleash your wrath on him. The gods know he deserves it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his chest. “Thank you for saving Henry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve said that far too many times already, Swan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’ll just have to hear me say it again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hook and his crew sail the Jolly Roger into Pirate’s Cove as they always have, but even his men are struck silent at how the island has changed. Bright flowers bloom, and the songs of tropical birds fill the air. The remnants of Rainbow Falls trickles over the rocks of the bluffs ahead in a soothing rhythm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian leaves his men with the ship and guides Emma through the thick trees, following the river that cuts through the island. Tink and Tiger Lily told him that no more dreamshade grows here. Every time a pixie dust tree blooms with new life, every dreamshade plant in its vicinity shrivels up and dies. Killian is glad he no longer has to fear the evil plant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma is quiet as they walk along the path to the home of the fairies. He senses her nerves, and gives her hand a comforting squeeze. The smile she gives him is forced, but she squeezes back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily and Tinkerbell no longer have reason to hide their domicile, so the cave is now open to the sunshine, and smoke rises cheerily from the chimney. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This looks cozy,” Emma says, biting her lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, though the smoke there is just for show. Tink has this idea that every home needs a fire going, even when it’s bloody 99 degrees outside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma manages a nervous laugh and follows him down the short passageway to the main part of the house. Killian taps his hook in the open doorway to alert those inside to their presence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily, unsurprisingly, isn’t home. Tink is at the sink doing dishes, but gasps and drops a bowl into the sudsy water when she sees her guests. Her hands fly to her mouth as she dashes across the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re . . . you’re Henry’s mother!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma gives Killian a surprised look, and he shakes his head in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How in the world do you know that, Tink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Hook, really? I’m a fairy, I know these things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s been impossible since she got her wings back,” Killian tells Emma.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Said wings flutter in indignation as Tink glares at him. “And you, Hook, have no manners. You haven’t even introduced me to our guest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t have a chance the way you’ve been blubbering on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Emma,” Swan interrupts, giving Killian a pointed look, “and yes, I’m Henry’s mother.” She glances around the room, worrying once again at her bottom lip. “Where is he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s napping,” Tink says, “but we could tiptoe in there if you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I?” Emma asks nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to scare him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink waves her hand. “He sleeps like a rock, believe me. Such a pleasant, sweet child, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s cheeks pink and her hands twist nervously as she follows Tink down the short hallway. The fairy opens the door slowly to reveal a darkened room with twinkling lights strung from the ceiling. In one corner is a twin sleigh bed, and snuggled under the soft blankets is a little boy with chestnut hair. Emma’s trembling hand flies to her lips as she tiptoes closer. His cheeks are plump, his ears stick out from his head in an adorable way, and Emma can’t help noticing that he has Neal’s nose. She glances behind her and sees that Killian and Tink have slipped away to give her privacy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma sinks to her knees beside the bed, her hand hovering over the child’s head. A half sob chokes in her throat as she gently strokes her little boy’s soft hair. He shifts in his sleep, clutching the teddy bear at his chest a bit tighter, and Emma quickly pulls her hand back. He rolls over, flinging one arm out, and that’s when Emma sees it: the buttercup birthmark that matches hers. The one she hasn’t seen since the day he was born. There’s no mistaking it, this is her son. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rises from the floor and tiptoes back out of the room and down the hall. When she sees Killian, he gives her a concerned look, and she flies to him. He lets out a puff of breath when she collides with his chest, but he instinctively holds her tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s beautiful,” she chokes out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>******************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John Darling adopted Henry when he was three years old. Apparently, he had terrible colic as an infant and severe night terrors after that, so he had been difficult for children’s services to place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink’s words seem to have little effect on Emma. Killian watches her with concern. The cup of tea in her hands is surely cold by now, and Emma hasn’t lifted it to her lips once since Tink gave it to her. She stares into the flames of the enchanted fire and idly pushes Wendy’s old rocking chair back and forth with her foot. Tink catches Killian’s gaze in concern, but he gives her a barely perceptible shake of his head. If Emma wants to engage, she can, but he won’t force her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink clears her throat and leans towards Emma. “I believe Henry’s difficulties - the colic and the night terrors - has to do with him being a child of two realms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That catches Emma’s attention, and her gaze snaps quickly to Tink. “Two realms?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink opens her mouth, but before she can explain, a small voice pipes up from the hallway, and Henry shuffles in. His face is flushed and sweaty from sleep, his hair is sticking up crazily, and he drags his teddy bear behind him by one leg. He freezes when he sees Emma and Killian. Tink notices and rushes to scoop the boy up on her lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry, you remember Killian, right?” She brushes at his hair as Henry nods shyly. “And this . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink edges towards Emma slowly, and Emma sets down her cup of tea with shaking hands. She edges onto her knees so she is eye level with Henry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ . . . this,” Tink continues, “is your mother, Henry. She’s come for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Henry,” Emma whispers, smiling despite her choked voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy blinks as he takes Emma in, then he eases off Tink’s lap and comes closer to the mother he hasn’t seen since the day of his birth. Killian can tell Emma is overwhelmed and that she longs to touch her son. He also knows she won’t until the child is ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry pulls his teddy bear closer and rests his chin between the toy’s ears. “Do you want to see my other toys?” he asks Emma softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s smile is wide and beaming. “Yes, I would like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry reaches out and takes Emma’s hand. Once they’re out of sight, Killian drops his face to his hands, unable to help the tears that leak out of the corners of his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*******************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can scarcely believe how much it’s changed,” Killian muses to Tinkerbell as he looks around him, “we were only gone a few days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s lounging on a picnic blanket, Tink sitting cross-legged next to him. Emma has taken Henry down to the edge of the water for a swim. The blanket is scattered with the remains of their lunch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It truly is beautiful,” Tink says with a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian tosses an apple core into the woods behind him, then lays back, flinging his arm across his eyes and resting his hook on his stomach. Tink gives a sardonic half laugh, haugh snort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get too comfortable, pirate, there are still a few lost boys out there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian rises up on his elbows and arches a brow at the fairy. “You think they’d cause trouble?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink shrugs, squinting out at the water. “Felix was loyal to Pan almost to the point of obsession. They’ve melted into the deepest part of the jungle and are quiet for now, but . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not borrowing trouble,” Killian grumbles. His eyes find Emma and Henry, and his voice grows thick with emotion. “I’d rather enjoy a quiet moment while I have it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun shines on the water of Mermaid Lagoon, making it sparkle like diamonds. The songs of the mermaids float on the air, and it’s just as beautiful as Tink had always said. Henry is knee deep in the water, laughing every time one of the mermaids flicks her tail at him. They’ve learned that the creatures can be rather mischievous, but one named Ariel has taken a particular liking to Henry. Ariel’s their princess, actually, and her fondness for the boy means they all remain on their best behavior with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian laughs at Henry’s antics. Each time he lunges for a mermaid tail, said mermaid darts away, and the five year old ends up splashing face first into the water. Yet every time, he resurfaces with a sputtering giggle. Killian’s gaze shifts to Emma. She and Tink are the same size, so the fairy has loaned her some clothes. Emma is currently wearing a one-shouldered dress of ocean green that hugs her figure. The skirt normally hits just below her calves, but Emma has it hitched up to her knees. She sits on a rock next to Henry, her legs in the water. Henry splashes her, and she splashes back. Then Emma opens her arms wide, and Henry launches himself into her embrace. Emma presses him close, not caring that he’s getting her completely wet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“These two weeks have been good for both of them,” Tink comments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” Killian agrees, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman he loves. Emma rises from the rock, cradling Henry like a baby, and walks up the beach towards them. Killian can see that Henry is getting sleepy by the way his arms have gone slack in his mother’s arms. Sure enough, when Emma deposits him on the picnic blanket, the lad’s eyelids are drooping. Emma wraps him up in a towel, and Henry curls up in a ball on the blanket, hugging his teddy bear close. Emma catches Killian’s gaze and smiles as she brushes Henry’s wet hair out of his face. Soon, the boy’s breaths even out, and he’s fast asleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma frowns. “Do you think it’s okay for him to sleep out here? He’s wet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t fret, my love,” Killian tells her, “the sun is warm, and you have him wrapped up snugly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods, but still bites her lip in concern. She’s only been a mother for two weeks, after all. What does she know? Killian probably knows more than she does after all his years of rescuing lost boys. Mason was Henry’s age when he joined the crew, so Killian had practically been a teen father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Swan,” Killian says gently, taking her hand and rubbing her knuckles gently, “you’re wonderful with him. A natural.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a long sigh and gives him a wobbly smile. How he manages to read her like that is another thing she’s having to get used to. She watches her son sleep, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. Once he allowed her to touch him, she couldn't seem to get enough: hugs, rubbing noses, brushing his hair off his forehead, cheek kisses. Henry loves the affection too, often leaping onto her lap and cupping her face with his chubby little hands. One of Henry’s arms is flung out in sleep, a habit of his that Emma finds adorable. His birthmark catches her eye, as it often does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tink,” she says softly, “these two weeks have been great. But don’t you think it’s time you explained to me what the hell this all means?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma doesn’t miss the glance Tink tosses Killian’s way, yet the furrow upon Killian’s brow likely matches hers. He’s already told her about Pan searching for the heart of the truest believer and about the significance of Henry’s birthmark. What neither of them can understand is how </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> fits into all of this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you mean,” Tink hedges. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None of that, you bloody stubborn fairy,” Killian admonishes in a teasing voice. “You said that Henry would be a child of two realms, but from what Emma and I can gather, he’s a child of only one. A land without magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink sighs, then looks at Emma questioningly. “Tell me about his father again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma shrugs. “He was just a boy. An ordinary runaway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A right jackass is what he was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well he was!” Killian protests, and Emma can’t help but smile at his indignation. They’ve had many long nights filling in all the details of their time apart, and Killian is definitely not a fan of Neal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink says nothing, her gaze distant, and Emma can practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> gears turning in her head. Killian looks nervous too, for some reason. Emma glances back and forth between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are the two of you not telling me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A child of two realms,” Killian says, his gaze falling on Henry, “and  . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A child of royalty,” Tink fills in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma blinks and gasps, “You can’t be saying . . . I mean, you don’t really think . . . but I’m no different than Neal! A nobody, nothing, I -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were never nothing,” Killian interrupts her firmly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze softens at the intensity in his voice, but then she shakes her head, the implications of it all overwhelming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re from a realm of magic, Emma,” Tink says, “it’s the only thing that makes sense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was abandoned,” Emma argues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think about it, darling,” Killian says softly, “you were found wrapped in a blanket that had your name stitched into it. Does that sound like careless parents to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rubs at her temple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Tink says, “but the prophecy about the truest believer was very clear. You , Emma Swan, are not only from a magical realm, you’re also -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A princess,” Killian finishes for the fairy. Emma’s head snaps up at the sadness in his voice. His jaw clenches as he rises to his feet. “Which is why this idyllic little holiday must come to an end. My ship and my crew are at your disposal, your highness. I swear to you, we will find your family and your kingdom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she can process what he’s saying or the sudden formality in his voice, he’s turning away and striding quickly back through the jungle. Emma looks at Tink, her eyes blinking in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell is up with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink sighs. “Captain Hook has quite the problem with self-loathing, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***********************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian is slowly coming up from the depths of a deep sleep, fighting the persistent whisper of his name. Then soft lips brush across his, and he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to fight it. His eyes blink open, and he squints in the dark, trying to see. A cool hand, a whisp of soft hair, and those lips again on the shell of his ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Follow me, Killian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks he’s dreaming at first, but when his arms reach for Emma’s side of the bed, and he finds it empty, the last cobwebs of sleep flee his brain. He sits up, heart pounding at first until he sees Emma in the doorway, smiling at him. She tilts her head in a gesture that says </span>
  <em>
    <span>come on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and seems to glide out into the hallway. He knows it’s the illusion of her long, white satin nightgown, but it makes her look ethereal all the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he’s up and doing her bidding, she picks up her skirts and runs on her bare feet down the hall, through the parlor, and out of the cave. He swears he hears her giggle once they’re out in the moonlight, but he’s beginning to wonder again if this is a dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stops at the edge of Mermaid Lagoon, and whirls to face him. He skids to a stop at the picture she makes, the light of the full moon pouring over her figure and illuminating her hair. That damn nightgown leaves little to the imagination, honestly, especially in this lighting. She smirks at him, as if she’s read his mind. Then she’s slipping the straps of the nightgown from her shoulders, letting the satin fall soundlessly around her feet. He’s completely shell-shocked now, blinking and practically gasping for air as he takes in her naked form, flawless and strong in the moonlight. They haven’t been intimate since her attack, and the sight before him causes an instant physical reaction. He suddenly realizes that he rushed after Emma without a shirt, without his brace, without his hook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without a weapon. He glances nervously at the jungle behind them, but Emma laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this a dream? A trick?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head and gives him a soft smile. “Killian. Seriously? I just felt we needed some time alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That last word - </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> - falls from her lips with weighted meaning. Then before he can respond or take another step, she turns and slips into the waters of the lagoon. She goes under soundlessly, then comes back up, only her head out of the water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t you coming, pirate? Or do you not know how to swim?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Killian’s turn now to smirk as he quickly discards his sleeping pants. “Oh believe me, love, I’m good in the water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dives in, cutting across the lagoon with easy strokes. He breaks the surface right in front of her, and Emma immediately wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her naked body to his. He shouldn’t succumb to this temptation, not when he knows now who she really is and where she comes from. Yet his arms go around her automatically, and his forehead drops to hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma,” he groans, “why are you torturing me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>torturing </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she counters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s fingers find his wet hair as she presses herself ever closer. “It’s been over two weeks, Killian. I miss you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to push you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, nuzzling her nose against his, “I know, and God, I love you for that, but I’m ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But since then we’ve . . . well, now we know -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it,” she commands, pressing a finger to his lips. Lips that curl up into a smile before pressing a kiss to the pad of her finger. “What was that for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sounded so regal just then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn princess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian frowns. “Yes you are, and we should be reuniting you with your parents, your kingdo-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma cuts him off with a fierce kiss, her tongue assaulting his, telling him far more with her actions than she ever could with words. He shouldn’t kiss her back, but their wet skin is pressed together, her fingers are digging into his scalp, and fire is coursing through his veins. Emma wraps her legs around his waist, and he’s completely incapable of rational thought. He slides his hand and stump down to hoist her up, grabbing her flesh in the process and eliciting a groan from deep in her throat. He shifts her so they are lined up perfectly, and she moans as he enters her. It’s quick, and slightly awkward in the water, but it’s been so long that neither of them mind. Emma’s legs tremble around him, and she drops her head to his shoulder as they both come down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Killian tells her breathlessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses her then, tenderly and with wonder. The jungle isn’t quiet; the water laps at the shore, crickets chirp, and leaves rustle. It feels like they can both finally breathe. He never wants it to end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay in the water for a long time, never leaving one another’s embrace. Neither wants to break the spell of the night with words, so they speak with kisses instead. When they first try to leave the water, they make it only as far as the beach. He presses Emma into the sand with his weight, claiming her lips once again. Yet she’s the one who takes him, switching their positions and pinning his arms above his head. The moonlight is spilling over her again as she moves above him, her head thrown back, her breasts glorious. They come at the same time, and then Emma collapses against him, her hair everywhere. He gathers it in his hand as he presses a kiss to her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first light of dawn is just tinting the horizon when they finally get dressed. Killian tries not to look Emma in the eyes, worried still that this was all some sort of hazy dream, or worse, a goodbye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s just slid his pants up to his waist when Emma comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her cheek to his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t me saying goodbye, if that’s what you're thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath catches in shock. He’s not the only one who is perceptive. She’s smirking at him when he turns around, and she reaches up to cup his face in her hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, Killian Jones.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She searches his eyes. “I feel like my whole life, until now, I was just searching for something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He threads his fingers through her hair. “Aye love, I feel the same. Perhaps I have always been trying to find my way back to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him a tremulous smile, and he exults at what he sees in her eyes. Her next words, however, steal his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to look for my parents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian frowns. “Emma, I’m sure they’ve been waiting for you all this time. Hoping, maybe even searching.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “I’m tired of living in the past. I’m ready to look forward - with you and with my son.” She presses a kiss to his lips and then drops her hands from his cheeks. Instead, she clasps both his hand and his stump and presses them to her chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian can scarcely breathe. “Swan, do you mean that you would . . . that is to say . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma laughs as a single tear slips down her cheek. “Don’t make me ask you, pirate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins broadly as he presses his forehead to hers. “Marry me? Let me always, always be by your side? Let me be a father to Henry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, and yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian kisses her again as the sun breaks forth across Neverland. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Little House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the last chapter, Emma told Killian she wanted to leave the past behind. What will the future hold?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>* I can't believe we are at the end of this fic! I am immensely proud of it, and I am so thankful for those who were willing to go on the journey with me to re-imagine Someone to Watch Over Me. I feel like the original was just a germ of an idea, and this event gave me the courage to build an entire world around it. A world similar to canon, yet unique. World building has never been my strength, and this re-write stretched me and helped me grow. In that way, I am so thankful to the ladies in the csrt discord chat, especially @optomisticgirl who stepped in as one of my last minute betas. B, you are the queen of world-building, and you have no idea how many times you helped me in chats to work out my own world in this story! Character development was also a big challenge in this fic, and for that I thank @shippingtheswann, my other beta. Emma and Killian's relationship wouldn't be as rich if not for you! And thank you to @distant-rose for helping me with the Lost Boys, the pirate crew, and the Neverland mythos. (If you ever need any info on pirates and ships, she's your girl!) I was nervous to take the story into some dark places, but you cheered me on and helped me trust my instincts. And of course, tons of thanks to the mods of this event at @captainswanbigbang. I was contemplating abandoning this fic until I saw you were organizing this, so massive kudos for putting this on!<br/>* One final thing, and I'll shut up and get to the actual chapter. My original vision for this fic was to take it where people had been begging me to - with Emma reuniting with her parents and the fall out from that - yet with my own version of the Enchanted Forest and the curse. However, as I worked on the story, I realized I had bitten off way too much. Therefore, I decided to split up the story. Sooo, this isn't the end! There will be a part two, which I am already working on. I will not be posting it until it is complete. It is shorter than this story, however, so hopefully the wait won't be too long!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Emma and Killian: Age 24</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Emma was a little girl, she had found a book of fairy tale stories at the school library. Inside was a picture of a little cottage by the sea made of a hodgepodge of stones and a thatched roof, and rolling all around it were hills of soft grass. She can no longer remember what story the illustration accompanied, but she does remember how often she would stare at that picture, thinking how cozy the family must have been who lived in that house. She checked the book out every chance she got, and when she was moved yet again to a new foster family and a new school, she had committed a grievous sin: she had ripped the picture out of the library book. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it had felt like a grievous sin to her seven year old self. Especially when the sweet librarian, Miss Stacy, had reminded them gently on numerous occasions of the proper way to treat the books. Ripping pages was definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the proper way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere along the line, she had lost that ripped page. Yet here, below her now, nestled in the dip of the hills and facing the sea along the shores of Avalon, is that dream house of her childhood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian,” is all she can manage to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” he asks, dipping his chin and scratching behind his ear. How can he be nervous giving her such a gift? Henry yells in delight and races down the hill towards the cottage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, she finds her voice again. “Like it? I dreamed of a house like this. When I was a kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Truly?” he asks incredulously, eyes bright with hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” she exults, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. She shakes her head as she pulls back, cupping his face with her hands. “But we can’t live here. Won’t you miss the sea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A pirate ship is no place to raise our son, and besides . . . “ he pulls her closer to the quaint home. Once they crest the hill, the land levels out, and the view is breathtaking. “ . . . there’s the sea right at our back door,” he finishes with a wide grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mama,” Henry cries as he comes flying out the front door, “can I pick out my room? There are three. Cause I want the one upstairs. Can I have the one upstairs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma laughs at her son’s barrage of questions. Killian reaches down and scoops up the wriggling child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, my boy, but you’re mum gets first choice.” He successfully cuts off the lad’s whines by tickling him. Then he sets Henry down upon his feet and ruffles his hair. “In the meantime, why don’t you pick some flowers for your mother? The field over there is carpeted with them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian points west away from the sea, and Henry eagerly scampers off. Emma calls after him to be careful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t go too far! Make sure you can still see the house!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll be fine, Swan,” Killian assures her, pulling her inside the house. “He never fell overboard on the Jolly despite your worrying, now did he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma rolls her eyes. “Haha, that really puts my mind at ease.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian winks at her, then gives her a tour of the first floor, which is bigger than she would have expected. There’s a small foyer, then a formal sitting room to the right and a formal dining room to the left. At the end of the hall is a kitchen that opens up into a family room with a stone fireplace identical to the one in the parlor. Next to the stove in the kitchen is a door that opens out onto a patio with an even better view of the rocky sea below. Between the hallway and the kitchen is another door that leads into the master bedroom. The bed is tucked right beneath the window, and Emma can imagine falling asleep to the soothing sounds of the crashing waves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no indoor plumbing like in your realm,” Killian explains as Emma circles the room, her hand skimming over the furnishings, “but there is a stream practically in our backyard, and the kitchen is large enough to put a tub in one corner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma pauses in her explorations and arches a brow at him. “You think I’m going to complain about a lack of plumbing after six months on the Jolly Roger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian manages another nervous laugh. “So you like it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She steps close to him, resting both of her palms on his chest. “I’m more worried if </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ll</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it. You won’t miss the adventures at sea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I’ve said many times, piracy is ten percent adventure, ninety percent sheer boredom.” He lifts one of her hands and kisses it. “I’m ready for a life with you and Henry. I’m ready for the family I haven’t had since my mother passed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears well in Emma’s eyes. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that anyone would choose her, put her first. Yet this man isn’t just anyone, is he? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides,” Killian says, thumbing her chin, “the Jolly still belongs to us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But are you really satisfied turning her into a merchant ship? Is your crew?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He draws her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Mason has always wanted to go to the naval academy, and with a year or two on a respectable merchant ship, he can. Hawkins wants to go to university, and Curly is looking at a plot of land to purchase and farm. Starkey has a sweetheart in Camelot, though he’s tried to hide it. As captain of my vessel, he can now ask for her hand. They’ve all grown up, Swan, and they have dreams and plans of their own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And they’re loyal to their first captain,” Emma amends with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” she tells him, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “Are you sure you won’t get bored doing ledgers, placing orders, or whatever else merchants do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian shakes his head and bops her nose. “Quit doubting me, love! Besides,” he leans closer and stage whispers in her ear, “don’t tell anyone this, but I rather enjoy keeping the ledgers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma finds the nerd beneath his swashbuckling swagger incredibly sexy for some reason. “Well then,” she teases, stepping away from him to saunter over to the large bed. She grasps one of the bedposts and drapes herself around it in what she hopes is a sexy maneuver. “In that case, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jones, maybe we should christen this bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian growls and pounces, yanking her close and claiming her lips hungrily. Emma’s just dropped to the bed with a giggle when Henry comes pounding inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watcha doin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma almost falls to the floor in her haste to push Killian off her and jump to her feet. “Um, Papa’s just . . . tickling me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian chokes as he tries to hold back a laugh, but Henry is oblivious. Their son sticks out his hand, and clenched in his fist are a bunch of small yellow flowers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well, I did what Papa said and got you some flowers, Mama!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buttercups!” Emma can’t help the tears that spill down her cheeks. “Thank you Henry!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She picks up her son as Killian steps closer. He embraces both of them, brushing kisses to the tops of their heads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome home, my loves,” he tells them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>******************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After removing his boots by the door, Killian tiptoes through the cottage, the light of the full moon helping him avoid the furniture, Henry’s toys, and Emma’s shoes which she always leaves wherever she happens to kick them off. When he gets to the kitchen, he’s able to light a lamp so he can find the supper that Emma promised to leave on the stove. The Jolly was late coming into port, and going through the inventory took much longer than he had anticipated. Luckily, Emma is used by now to that most unpredictable of mistresses: the sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of his name is weak, yet he can still make it out on the other side of their bedroom door. He crosses to the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible. Emma’s curled up on the bed, her hair lit gold by the moon, and she’s so still he thinks maybe he didn’t hear her after all. He wants to reach out and touch her, yet he doesn’t want to wake her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian? Killian?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stirs slightly, but it’s clear she is still half asleep as she mumbles his name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye love, it’s me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” He touches her lightly through the blankets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She says his name a few more times, like a question, and he can’t help smiling at how disoriented she is. He’s learned over the past year that she does in fact talk in her sleep. She finally seems satisfied that he’s here, and that he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Killian</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her body relaxes and she mumbles </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> on a sigh. He pats her gently again and turns to go, but before he can, she reaches out and manages to find his hook in the dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re not leaving?” she asks, still in that sleepy voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question makes his heart swell. “No love, I’m not leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry’s not leaving?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts his hook and brushes his lips across her hand, which clings to the metal tightly. “No, Swan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lets out a little shudder and releases his hook. He bends, brushes a kiss to her brow, then turns back to the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian, have we done this before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question has him frozen with his hand on the doorknob. He isn’t sure what she means by the question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only just got home, Emma,” he tells her gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she murmurs, sleep finally beginning to claim her fully and slurring her words. “I guess I dreamed it, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian tiptoes out and slowly closes the door behind him. He chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table with the food Emma had left on the stove. Yet as he takes a bite of the roast on his plate, he sobers. He hates the fears that sometimes plague Emma. He wonders how long it will take for the love in their little home to ease them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>******************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian awakes the next morning to the banging of pots and pans, sometimes punctuated by curses in their small kitchen. He may have had second thoughts about the location of the master bedroom if he had been aware of the fact that Emma was completely incapable of moving about quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I have more strawberries, Mama?” Henry calls out, far louder than necessary, and Killian groans as he shoves the pillow over his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh,” Emma admonishes, in the exact same volume as their son, “you’ll wake up Papa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’s he not up? He said he’d bring home more paper for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know the ship doesn’t always arrive on time. Now eat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian flings aside the pillow with a sigh, knowing that getting any more shut eye is impossible. Yet as he buckles his brace and slips into his shirt, he only feels joy well inside his chest. He did get Henry more paper for his scribbles, and he can’t wait to hear what tall tales the lad will weave next. He can’t, at only six, truly write yet, but he feels with fatherly pride that it’s merely a prelude of what is to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he’s dressed, he grabs the parcels wrapped in brown paper and string that he’d hidden in the nightstand before he went to bed. He tucks them under his hooked arm, then bursts through the bedroom door. “Making an entrance,” as Emma would say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Papa!” Henry cries out, tossing aside his fork and jumping up from the kitchen table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Killian!” Emma admonishes, turning from the stove with a spatula in her hand. “I was trying to let you sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A pointless endeavor, love,” he quips with a wink. Emma rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove. Henry leaps onto his back, trying to grab the parcels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whaddya get me, Papa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, get off me, you little monkey, and I’ll show you.” Henry slides to the floor, and Killian hands him the largest parcel. “Paper, as requested.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yay! But what’s the other one?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian hands him the small, compact, rectangular package and grins as Henry rips into it. The paper falls away to reveal a leather bound book with beautiful gilt-edged pages and hand painted illustrations in deep hues. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That, my boy, is a book of tales from Agrabah where the air smells like spices and the sultanese keeps a tiger for a pet!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow! Will you read it to me right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian glances over his shoulder at his wife. “Not until after you eat your breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ruffles Henry’s hair, and the boy obeys. Killian turns to the stove where Emma is purposefully keeping her back to him, though he can’t fathom why. He saunters up behind her and leans over her shoulder, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, something smells delicious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just pancakes,” she retorts, but she is unable to hide her smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t talking about breakfast,” he growls lower against her skin. He feels her shiver beneath him, but when he tries to grab her around the waist, she dodges him. She grabs the plate of pancakes and carries them to the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eat them before they get cold,” she says with forced cheerfulness, and he frowns. She sits next to Henry, sliding a pancake onto the boy’s plate, and Killian sits as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I got you something too,” he tells her, sliding a small parcel across the table with his hook.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma still refuses to meet his gaze, fiddling with the string around the square package that could fit in the palm of her hand. “You know I never need anything but you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yet a man likes to spoil his bride. Go ahead, open it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances up at him from beneath her lashes, then tears into the paper with a tentative smile. It falls away to reveal a small velvet box, and Emma gasps before she’s even lifted the lid. When she does finally open it with trembling fingers, she breathes out his name. Killian slides off his chair and falls to his knees next to her. He pulls the gold ring with its simple jade stone reverently from the velvet and slides it onto the ring finger of her left hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I promised you I would get you a ring the day we wed, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods, staring at the gem and turning it in the light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know diamonds are the usual choice, but this immediately made me think of your eyes. Then the gold like your hair . . . “ he trails off worriedly. “Emma?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks up at him finally - and promptly bursts into tears. Killian glances at Henry worriedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take your breakfast outside on the patio, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry nods and scurries off without argument, his brown eyes wide as he glances at his mother. Killian rubs his wife’s back and whispers soothing words, most of them nonsense. He hands Emma his handkerchief, and she wipes it across her eyes, then blows her nose loudly. She cocks her head at him, and the words out of her mouth are the last ones he expected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did we have a conversation when you came home last night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um . . . yes, love. You said my name about a hundred times then asked if I was staying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods, twisting his handkerchief in her hands. “I thought so. Did I ask if we’d done this before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian laughs and rubs her back again. “Yes, you did. I wasn’t sure if you meant last night, our entire marriage, or since we were ten.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma nods, but says nothing. He’s entirely confused. It isn’t like Emma to cry out of nowhere. Or refuse to look at him. Or dodge his touch. He’s beginning to become concerned, truth be told. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t like the ring -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I like it! It’s perfect!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God,” Emma pants, hugging her middle and looking up at the ceiling. “Last night, I dreamed about this conversation. In my dream - my nightmare - you got angry and left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian’s brow furrows. “I can assure you, Swan, nothing you can tell me would ever make me leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She levels him with a steady gaze. “You used to. Through the wardrobe.” He starts to open his mouth, but she lifts her hand to stop him. “I know it wasn’t intentional, and I’m not blaming you, I just . . . I just . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grasps her hand firmly in his. “Breathe, love, it’s okay. You just get scared sometimes. It’s okay. So do I.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do?” her voice sounds so small and fragile that it breaks his heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, of course. It has nothing to do with love or trust. The wounds of childhood tend to linger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I do trust you!” she exclaims.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He draws nearer and cups her cheek. “I know that. That’s my point entirely. The fears are irrational, for both of us. Now, what is it you have to tell -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stills when Emma takes his hand and places it on her abdomen. It’s different somehow, and he freezes. He had noticed the last time they made love, but couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. Now he gazes into Emma’s blushing face - how had he not noticed the sudden roundness in her cheeks? The pieces begin to fall into place - her fatigue lately, that illness that seemed to linger far too long . . . </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma, are you . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nods, her eyes welling up with tears again. Her tears - of course! He swallows thickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma you’re . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grins wider, cocking her head saucily. “I’m rather proud that I’ve rendered you speechless. I think the word you’re looking for is </span>
  <em>
    <span>pregnant</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A grin fills his face, a goofy, joyous grin. “Well, I was going to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>with child</span>
  </em>
  <span>, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. “Of course you were, my old fashioned sailor who -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cuts her off with a passionate kiss, and when it ends, he scoops her up and spins her around with joy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful there, buddy. The morning sickness is mostly gone, but I make no promises that I won’t puke on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” he says, shaking his head, “how long have you known about this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she hedges, “this realm doesn’t exactly have a stick you can pee on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs, “Never mind. Let’s just say it took me awhile to figure it out, and then it took me a bit longer to get up the nerve to tell you. I’d say I’m at least twelve weeks along, probably more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian cups her face with his hand and locks his eyes intently on hers. “Do you honestly believe I would leave you over this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bites her lower lip and shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you see now how happy this makes me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” she says with a shrug, “you spinning me around the kitchen sort of convinced me, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He throws his head back and laughs before kissing her soundly again. But he doesn't do any more spinning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No sense testing fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***************************</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Captain Jones, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The midwife has the audacity to grab Kilian by the arm and try to forcibly remove him from his own bedroom. On the bed, Emma is crying out as her next contraction hits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving,” Killian says firmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It isn’t proper for a man to be present,” the midwife argues, though her words are almost drowned out by Emma’s cries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bullshit,” Emma interrupts the argument, her breaths coming raggedly as her</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>birthing pains abate for the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Jones, it just isn’t done,” the midwife snaps back, aghast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it is in the realm I come from,” Emma tells her, “not to mention the whole</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>impropriety thing is ridiculous. He’s obviously intimately familiar with my vagina.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The midwife’s eyes grow impossibly large, and Killian can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs Jones! It isn’t ladylike to -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well ladylike has never described me anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The midwife presses her lips together in a disapproving way as she draws closer to the bed. She lowers her voice, but the woman is seventy-three and hard of hearing, so Killian can hear every word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m aware that your husband isn’t the biological father of your son, so I’m going to assume this is a bit new to you. If your husband sees you in this state, well . . . it may . . . turn him away from you, if you catch my meaning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s face turns a deeper shade of red that has nothing to do with her labor, and her eyes blaze in a way Killian knows well. He grins wider, knowing that his wife is about to render this woman speechless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My husband wasn’t complaining about my pussy when he was between my thighs last night, so I think I’m safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yep, speechless. Killian can’t help winking at the midwife as he saunters past her. The woman looks like she might faint. Killian kneels beside the bed and brushes a kiss to Emma’s forehead. Her face crumples as she clutches desperately at his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She was trying to make you leave!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing could tear me away, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh God!” Emma yells, drawing her knees up as another contraction rolls through her. Emma releases Killian’s hand and grabs onto his hook instead as she groans in pain. This one is stronger than the last, and just as Killian is about to lose his mind because he can’t help her, she collapses against the mattress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to break your one good hand,” she tells him with a wane smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate that,” he quips back with a lopsided grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The midwife has pushed the sheets back and is examining Emma. “Well, Mrs. Jones, your contractions are longer and closer together, but the baby isn’t crowning yet. We’ve got a while still.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma whimpers and shakes her head. “It didn’t take this long when Henry came.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian puts his arm around her and whispers that he loves her. She drops her head wearily to his chest, and he kisses her sweaty brow. Another hour goes by the same way, and it feels like time has stopped altogether. Killian feels her labor is unceasing, so he can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Though she’s clearly exhausted, he’s amazed at her strength. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see the head!” the midwife finally says excitedly, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “Can you push for me when the next contraction hits, Emma?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look on his wife’s face is full of determination as she draws her knees up. He sees her tense when the pain comes again, but she bears down with a scream. She has to do the same thing again, and again, and yet again before the midwife laughs out that the baby’s head is out. The midwife shocks him when she pushes back the sheets further and asks if he wants to see. Killian does, and he blinks back tears when he sees their baby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s almost over, Emma,” he encourages her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma pushes a few more times, and finally, cries fill the air. Emma laughs even as she collapses in exhaustion. Killian kisses her and murmurs over and over how bloody brilliant she is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a girl!” the midwife announces as she rubs the baby down with salt to fend off infection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A girl,” Kilian breathes and kisses his wife again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The midwife then washes the baby off with the water Killian had boiled for her hours ago. The little thing is red, screaming, and oh so tiny, but the midwife is all business as she cleans her up and wraps her in a blanket. The woman only softens when she gently places the baby girl in Emma’s arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Killian, she’s so beautiful,” Emma whispers as she brushes her fingers over the baby’s cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian lays down sideways on the bed next to his wife and gazes in wonder down at the tiny baby. She has a tuft of dark hair on her head, and her skin is damp and feather soft beneath his fingers. She’s ceased her crying, her eyes wide as she gazes up at Emma, as if she recognizes her mother instantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She has your eyes,” Emma whispers with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your chin and nose,” Killian adds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your ears,” Emma says, her thumb tracing over them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Poor thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Emma admonishes, tearing her gaze away from the baby, “I love your ears.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They just gaze down at her for several moments, Killian grinning broadly when the baby’s tiny fingers wrap around his pinkie. A tear slips down his face, and Emma reaches up to wipe it away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to hold her, Papa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can only nod, his emotions overwhelming him. He gathers the bundle into his arms, holding her close to his chest and out of the way of his hook. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What shall we name her, Swan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually. I sort of had a feeling she was a girl, and well . . . there’s only one name that seems fitting. A name that I will always associate with love and home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know exactly what you’re referring to, my love, and I think it’s absolutely perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a soft knock at the door, and they both turn their heads to see Starkey in the doorway with Henry in tow. Kilian grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Henry, would you like to come meet your baby sister Martha?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry’s eyes are wide as he draws closer to the bed. Emma reaches out and encourages her son to climb up and join them. He settles in next to his mother and leans over to look at the baby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s pink,” he observes, and they laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She won’t be forever,” Killian explains, “all babies are that way at first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Emma teases, kissing his cheek, “even you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry gets bored of the baby fairly quickly and asks if he can go back down to the beach with Starkey. After he leaves, Emma and Killian cuddle together to love on Martha, until she starts to fuss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” the midwife says briskly, “Papa needs to leave so Mama can nurse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let’s Killian stay the minute she sees Emma’s scowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Emma and Killian: Age 28</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Papa, again, again!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian laughs as his three-year-old daughter makes futile attempts to move the rocking horse back and forth. “Okay, okay, anything for my cygnet.” He presses his hook down on the horse’s tail, setting it in motion again as his little girl squeals with delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma laughs too from her chair by the fireplace. “That’s the truth. You know the kids don’t need you to bring gifts every time you’re away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s part of the inventory I own, love, I can do what I please with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You spoil us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Happily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He winks at his wife as she settles back into her chair and sips contentedly on her mug of hot chocolate - another gift from his latest shipment. Business is booming with the addition of a second ship. Starkey is still the captain of the Jolly while Nibs has taken the helm of the Jewel II. The Jolly is what sets Killian’s business apart, however. With the pegasus sail, it’s able to bring exotic goods from far away realms that no other merchants can acquire. Though Hawkins, Mason, and Curly all left to pursue their respective dreams, Killian had no trouble replacing them nor acquiring a crew for Captain Nibs. Jones Shipping has developed a reputation for treating their sailors well, and Killian has been able to hire the very best at sea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Jones family enjoys frequent trips on the Jolly as well, with renovated accommodations that Killian made specifically to make his family more comfortable. Henry and Martha are just as content at sea as they are on land, though this little cottage of theirs is always a joy to come home to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian continues to rock Martha on her new toy as his gaze lands on Henry, now nine years old. As usual, he wanted more paper and pencils, which he goes through at an alarming pace. His writing is incredibly engaging and complex for a boy his age, and Killian couldn’t be more proud. Henry’s no slouch behind the wheel of the Jolly, either, and can read the stars as well as any of Killian’s crew. No father has ever been more blessed than he.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their domestic evening scene is disrupted by a knock at the door. Emma frowns as she rises to her feet, setting her mug down on the coffee table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who could that be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Emma opens the door, she lets out a pleasantly surprised gasp to find Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily standing there. Despite Martha’s protests, Killian joins Emma at the door with his little girl balanced on his hip. There’s the typical round of greetings, hugs, and exclamations over how much the children have grown, but Emma and Killian both get the feeling this isn’t just a social visit. Not at this time of day, and not by the looks of those nervous expressions on the fairies’ faces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just brought home cocoa and tea from Agrabah,” Killian tells his old friends. “Would you like some?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that would be nice,” Tiger Lily says, “tea for me, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take some cocoa,” Tink adds, “remember how Wendy used to love it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, she sure did,” Killan says, his mind going back in time to a frightened little girl with leaves in her hair. He hopes wherever she is, that Wendy is happy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, Henry,” Emma says slowly, “why don’t you take Martha upstairs with her new rocking horse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian holds his breath for the lad to protest. His baby sister in his room isn’t his favorite thing in the world, but the boy must pick up on the tension radiating off the fairies because he immediately agrees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Martha,” Henry tells her as he hoists up the rocking horse, “I bet I can rock you even faster than Papa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martha squeals in delight and eagerly follows the big brother she idolizes up the stairs. Emma settles in at the kitchen table with the fairies while Killian goes to the stove. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this all about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s his wife, direct as always. Tiger Lily sighs and cuts a quick glance over to Tink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emma . . . “ she says slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We found your parents!” Tink interrupts, practically vibrating with excitement. Tiger Lily rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Emm breathes, and Killian abandons the tea pot to rush to her side and take her hand. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, lost princesses are more common than you might think,” Tiger Lily says dryly, “but in the case of the lost princess of Misthaven, it all adds up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Adds up to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Emma,” Tink put in. “The birthmark, the princess’s birthdate, the wardrobe - all of it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,’ Killian interjects, “did you just say </span>
  <em>
    <span>wardrobe</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s cut off by the whistling of the teapot, and he goes quickly to retrieve it from the stove. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we need to start from the beginning, Tink,” Tiger Lily says as Killian sets out the tea and cocoa on the table. When he joins the women, he draws his chair as close as he can to his wife so he can put his arm around her and take her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may have heard the tales about Snow White, her Prince Charming, and their battles with the Evil Queen,” Tiger Lily begins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Snow White and Prince Charming?” Emma asks. “You mean they’re real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Says the woman married to Captain Hook and having tea with Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily,” Killian quips, earning him an eye roll from his wife. She’s told him the version of Neverland in her former realm - a ridiculous version, in his opinion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, they’re real, silly,” Tink says with a shake of her blond curls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve heard of them,” Killian says, “go on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Tiger Lily continues, “you may have heard that though they banished the Evil Queen after taking back the kingdom, she returned when Snow was with child. She cursed the baby with an evil spell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Killian says with a shake of his head, “and it came to pass. The child came too soon and died.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, she did come too soon, but the child did not die. Secretly, the Blue Fairy helped the court woodworker fashion an enchanted wardrobe -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma gasps and clutches her husband’s hand tighter. “Killian! A wardrobe!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, love,” he whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The wardrobe was supposed to send Snow safely to a land without magic where the curse couldn’t touch the unborn child,” Tiger Lily says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It could only carry one,” Tink clarifies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the baby came too soon, so they had no choice but to send the child through alone. The Evil Queen and her minions were mounting an attack on the castle, so they had no more time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian nods. “I’ve heard of that battle. It’s a favorite tale in every realm, though not one with a happy ending. The Evil Queen was slain, and everyone was led to believe that in the chaos, Queen Snow lost the child.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you believe this baby was me?” Emma asks softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily reaches across the table and gently turns over Emma’s left wrist. “The Blue Fairy cast a spell over you in the womb so that when you were born, this mark would be upon you. So your parents would know you when you found them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s eyes well up with tears. “How did they know I would ever find them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They had faith and hope. Even with the Evil Queen dead, her curse still remained until your 21st birthday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tink jumps in, bouncing on her seat. “The best part, Tiger Lily, tell them the best part!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily smiles indulgently at the blonde. “I think you’d like to tell them, so go ahead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Rose Fairy imparted a gift to you, Emma - that the wardrobe would bring you your true love, and that when the time was right, he would lead you home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma turns to Killian, her eyes bright with tears as she cups his face. “Our wardrobe, Killian, that’s why it appeared to us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head in wonder. “Emma, I know how you feel about me, but true love? That’s the strongest magic of all. Surely someone more worthy . . . “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emma’s face softens as tears slip free and roll down her cheeks. “Don’t you see? The wardrobe brought us together right when we needed one another the most. Right before I lost Martha, right before you lost your brother and Milah. Then it brought us together for good when you found Henry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Killian lets out a breath of wonder as Emma’s thumb traces the scar on his cheek. “We always find one another, don’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiger Lily and Tink both beam as they speak again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s funny you should say that -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it’s kind of your family motto.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>To be continued . . . 😉</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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